DEWITT&SNELLING 

BOOKSELLERS 


'•• 


STREET 


THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 


A  ]NTOVEL. 


HARR  WAGNER  AND  E.  T.  BUNYAN, 

Editors  of  "  The  Golden  Era." 


INTBODUCTOET   ESSAY   BY 

REV.  ROBT.  MACKENZIE. 


A  man's  misfortunes  antedate  his  birth. 


SAN  FRANCISCO    CAL. 
SAN  FRANCISCO  NEWS  COMPANY 

1883. 


,\ 


Copyrighted  1883,  by  Wanner  &  Bunyan. 


Bancroft  Library 


INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY. 


Some  painter  enriched  our  Centennial  Exhibition  with  a  picture  of  the 
Ciesar  on  his  war-horse.  An  affrighted  woman  carrying  her  child  is  seen  in 
the  distance,  escaping  for  her  life;  the  ruthless  hoof  of  the  horse  is  planted 
in  the  bosom  of  another  woman,  less  fortunate  in  her  escape,  while  the 
Caesar,  indifferent  to  the  sufferings  of  his  march,  is  calmly  studying  the  globe 
in  his  hand,  planning  at  what  gates  he  will  next  marshal  his  legions,  and 
what  country  he  will  next  subdue  to  his  scepter,  ^ 

That  proud  and  ruthless  Caesar  is  dust  to-day;  his  marchings  are  all  over; 
his  name  affrights  no  woman  or  child,  but  his  horse  goes  on,  mounted  by 
another  and  more  reckless,  cruel,  bloodthirsty  rider.  Caesar  has  given  place 
to  alcohol;  strong  drink  commands  a  larger  army,  besieges  and  conquers 
more  cities,  and  tramples  into  the  dust  more  women  and  children  than  ever 
did  the  Caesar. 

Women  and  children  are  always  the  victims  of  the  world's  passions.  Men 
may  have  the  glory,  the  fame  or  the  pleasure;  women  and  children  have  the 
pains,  the  privations,  the  bitter  dregs  of  it  all.  Man's  breast  may  heave 
with  proud  ambition,  on  the  horse;  woman's  breast  is  crushed  by  the  cruel 
hoof.  That  horse  and  that  rider  are  making  fearful  havoc  on  our  own 
streets.  Their  victims  pass  us  on  every  corner  in  increasing  numbers.  The 
mark  of  the  hoof  is  plainly  seen.  Their  cry  is  in  our  ears,  and  we  dare  not 
be  deaf  to  it.  It  may  be  true  that  strong  drink  and  its  blighting  results 
have  not  touched  us;  but  we  are  surely  past  the  days  of  the  Stoic  and  the 
Pharisee  who  could  wrap  themselves  in  their  superiority,  and  thank  God 
they  were  not  as  other  men.  "  What  is  your  Christianity  to  me?"  is  an  ac- 
cumulating cry  coming  up  from  these  miserable  unfortunates,  which  we 
know  and  feel  ought  to  have  a  more  practical  and  comprehensive  answer. 
Christian  people  hear  that  cry  and  feel  the  inadequacy  of  the  work  per- 
formed. We  stand  on  the  corner  of  some  famous  streets  where  these  waifs 
gather  in  greater  numbers,  and,  looking  beyond,  we  see  the  spires  of  our 
churches  that  have  cost  a  hundred  thousand  dollars — costly  piles  that  stand 
idle  and  echoless  for  six  days  in  the  week,  across  whose  portals,  opened  for 
two  hours  on  the  Sunday,  few  of  this  class  feel  welcome,  and  less  come,  and 
we  realiza  that  certainly  something  is  wrong.  That  amount  of  capital  ought 
not  to  be  locked  up  at  such  a  small  per  cent  of  return. 

None  feels  or  regrets  this  more  than  the  Christian  community.  There  are 
hundreds  who  fain  would  do  something,  even  much,  to  alleviate  and  to  pre- 
vent all  this  misery,  if  they  only  knew  what  to  do  and  where  to  do  it.  Many 
a  willing  heart  is  delayed,  waiting  for  a  large  opportunity,  or  discouraged 
through  the  failure  of  an  attempt  on  too  grand  a  scale. 

The  heroism  of  books,  the  chivalric  deeds  of  the  past,  seem  to  have  all 
been  performed  on  horseback,  by  mailed  knights  who  scoured  the  globe  for 
the  relief  of  the  oppressed  and  the  unfortunate.  That  form  of  benevolence 
still  lingers  in  our  imagination,  and  many  zealous  spirits  are  idle,  waiting  the 


INTRODUCTORY    ESSAY. 

opportunity  to  come  to  them,  thus  grandly  and  gaily  equipped.  To-day  the 
world's  heroism  is  not  mounted;  those  that  are  helping  the  world  along  are 
almost  all  on  foot — humble,  unknown  and  often  obscure. 

We  read  in  German  history  how  the  Northmen  came  down  upon  that 
country,  carrying  war  and  ruin  with  them.  Arnulf,  a  rough  but  brave  man, 
led  his  country  in  the  defense.  The  swampy  nature  of  the  ground  and  the 
position  of  the  enemy  where  they  were  encamped  were  singularly  unfavora- 
ble to  such  fighting  as  the  knightly  noblemen  had  practised  before.  They 
were  about  to  retreat,  when  Arnulf  did  the  most  unknightly  thing  of  dis- 
mounting, and,  taking  in  his  hand  the  banner  of  the  empire,  led  the  way  on 
foot  through  the  morass  to  storm  the  cainp.  Christian  and  other  philan- 
thropic people  must  follow  Arnulf 's  example,  and  go  at  this  work  on  foot. 
The  benevolence  of  the  world  can  reach  the  needy  classes  in  no  other  way. 
Let  us  be  willing  to  do  the  little  things,  to  speak  the  simple  word,  to  begin 
by  gathering  in  and  helping  the  few.  Let  us  be  willing  to  go  right  into  the 
swamp,  as  Arnulf  did.  Our  pity  will  become  still  more  active  and  practical 
when  it  is  aj  plied  to  the  prevention  of  this  misery. 

"Is  she  a  bad  one?"  is  asked  in  the  following  pages.  We  certainly  would 
discourage  nothing  done  for  the  redemption  of  the  "bad  ones;"  but  there 
are  thousands  of  these  children  who  are  not  "bad  ones"  yet.  They  are 
only  on  the  way — some  of  them  on  the  verge  of  it.  The  painter  represents 
the  angels,  not  lifting  the  fallen  out  of  the  abyss,  but  drawing  back  the 
tempted,  persuading  them  from  the  leap  into  it.  We  will  be  on  the  side  of 
the  angels  when  we  mass  our  energies  in  preventing  this  misery.  In  this 
line  many  benevolent  people  are  already  found  reaping  rich  results.  Our 
kindergartens,  our  children's  sewing  schools,  our  city  missions,  our  mission 
visitors  that  go  from  house  to  house,  are  all  work;ng  in  the  line  of  preven- 
tion. Impressions  of  the  good  are  indelibly  made  upon  the  hearts  of  these 
children  that  will  underlie  and  outlive  all  the  wounds  of  the  evil  they  yet 
may  see. 

Nor  is  there  any  work  on  earth  that  so  rewards  the  worker  as  that  which 
we  do  for  little  children.  The  Saviour  is  said  to  have  wept  three  times,  and 
never  to  have  laughed;  but  surely  there  was  one  time  in  his  life  when  he 
smiled — when  he  took  the  little  children  in  his  arms  and  blessed  them — how 
could  he  help  it?  There  is  something  in  our  ministry  to  children  that  opens 
the  widest  gates  of  our  own  hearts,  something  which  appeals  to  the  very 
best  within  us.  When  the  miners  of  '49  were  in  our  mountains  they  en- 
dured manfully  many  of  the  privations  of  home  and  family;  but  it  is  said 
when  a  little  child  came  casually  to  a  camp,  they  left  their  work  for  a  time 
to  go  and  see  it,  and  sometimes  gave  the  proud  mother  money  for  the  privi- 
lege of  kissing  the  little  one;  it  reminded  them  of  home.  When  Christ  was 
on  the  earth,  the  only  thing  that  reminded  him  of  home  was  little  children. 
We  ure  surely  following  in  worthy  footsteps,  when  by  charity  or  love  we 
gather  up  one  of  these  little  flowers  from  the  merciless  street. 

ROBERT  McKfiNziE. 


TME*STREET*£ND4TME*FLO¥ER 


PRELUDE. 

From  out  the  depths  of  humanity  comes  a  plaintive  cry  for 
help.  Myriad  voices  are  combined  in  the  penetrating  com- 
plaint. This  cry,  which  is  voiced  by  tears,  has  been  uttered  by 
every  human  being.  With  some  it  has  been  the  cry  for  bread, 
some  for  clothes,  some  for  friends,  some  for  freedom,  some  for 
genius,  and  with  others  for  recognition.  Plato  heard  the  cry  of 
humanity  for  help;  he  gave  the  people  philosophy.  Luther  heard 
the  wail;  he  reformed  religion.  Dickens  saw  the  tears  of  pov- 
erty in  the  streets  of  London;  he  planted  flowers  there  and  made 
poverty  eminently  respectable.  Our  Pilgrim  Fathers  heard  the 
cry,  and  freedom  lived.  John  Brown  heard  the  faint  echo  of 
the  negro's  plaintive  song,  and  we  are  doubly  free.  The  cry 
for  help  has  reached  above  mortal  ears,  and  a  favorable  answer 
is  found  in  the  gradual  progression  of  the  race.  But  life  is  a 
web.  There  are  few  weavers  and  much  material.  That  part 
of  the  web  which  is  limited  by  the  confines  of  this  city  com- 
prises the  action  and  philosophy  of  this  story.  The  weavers  are 
those  who  have  listened  to  humanity's  cry.  Some  have  listened 
to  the  whispers  of  an  angel — a  bad  angel.  Some  of  the  weav- 
ers tangle  the  already  tangled  web,  and  ruin  the  material.  It  is 
our  intention  to  discriminate  closely  between  the  true  and  false 
position  of  social  reformers;  to  give  the  time  principles  of  social 


2  THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER. 

ethics;  to  ridicule  some  and  to  praise  others  who  now  figure 
prominently  in  social  affairs.  Poverty  and  love — for  love,  not 
sentimentality,  is  the  mainspring  of  every  emotion — wealth  and 
philosophy — for  philosophy  governs  the  proper  distribution  of 
all  wealth — are  the  accompaniments  of  the  story.  The  prelude 
now  ends.  The  story  begins. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  Heaven  is  not  far  removed  in  our  infancy." 

In  the  chill,  gloom  and  squalor  of  one  of  the  dingiest  houses 
of  Benton  Park  a  child  caught  the  breath  of  heaven,  and  Miff 
had  a  motherless  sister. 

The  bright-eyed  boy,  ragged,  healthy,  immoral  and  dirty, 
touched  with  his  finger  tips  the  cold,  purple  lips  of  his  mother, 
whose  life  ended  when  his  sister's  began. 

Six  years  previous  to  a  time,  it  matters  little  when,  Miff  was 
born  into  this  straggling  world.  His  misfortunes  antedated  his 
birth.  Jared  Kenwood,  his  father,  was  a  man  whose  posterity 
claim  no  honor  through  inherited  qualities.  He  was  in  his  earliest 
youth  crushed  and  warped  out  of  all  manly  shape  and  charac- 
teristics. Life  to  him  was  a  mere  song,  not  a  song  of  home, 
but  of  the  concert  hall,  low,  lewd  and  inharmonious.  Touch 
him  gently  with  the  sharp  pencil  of  truth.  Let  the  fog  of  the 
city  mantle  his  weaknesses.  He  is  a  man,  a  father — the  para- 
gon of  animals  and  the  wonder  of  society.  The  bloated  face 
calls  for  a  woman's  kind  toilet  powder;  his  nose  need  be  painted 
with  the  hue  of  a  rose — a  white  rose;  the  eyes  in  the  elbow  of 
his  coat  sleeve  need  be  patched  with  silver  lining;  paint  him 
no  blacker  than  he  is,  or  by  the  darkness  of  Erebus,  a  paint 
blacker  than  crime  will  have  to  be  discovered. 

What  right  had  Jared  Eenwool  to  have  born  into  this  world 
a  child  tainted  with  bad  blool,  albeit  a  spice  of  nobleness  came 
from  a  gentle  mother,  and  the  gera  of  a  soul  was  caught  in  the 
first  breath  as  it  fluttered  and  fell  from  the  edge  of  a  cloud 
to  the  soulless  earth.  The  world  wants  more  gods. 


4:  THE    STEEET    AND    THE    FLOWER. 

There  was  a  presiding  deity  of  creation;  now  let  us  have  a  pre- 
siding deity  of  procreation.  If  there  had  been  some  one  to  see 
that  all  were  born  right,  Miff's  career  would  have  been  like  the 
vast  majority  —unwritten. 

The  family  of  Ren  woods,  who  lived  in  Benton  Park,  consisted 
of  Jared  Renwocd,  his  wife  and  boy  Miff.  But  in  a  day  the  fam- 
ily was  changed.  Mrs.  Kenwood,  a  kind,  gentle  and  refined 
woman,  was  buried.  Jared  Kenwood  was  dead — drunk,  and  the 
infant  child  was  kindly  cared  for  by  Mrs.  Martin,  a  good  moth- 
erly soul,  who  had  only  ten  children  of  her  own  to  care  for  and 
liard  bone  labor  to  support  them.  Jared  Kenwood  made  his 
home  in  the  saloons.  Miff  took  care  of  himself,  picking  up  a 
lesson  here  and  there  on  the  ways  of  the  world,  fighting  this  and 
stealing  that,  until  a  3rear  had  passed,  bringing  a  sort  of  re- 
liant, defiant  and  immature  manhood  to  the  sorry  denizen  of 
the  street.  A  hallowed  affection  existed  between  him  and  his 
baby  sister.  Every  day  he  would  run  across  the  street  and  touch 
her  soft  cheek,  pinch  her  hand  and  pull  out  the  longest  delicate 
hair  he  could  find  on  the  bald,  peach-shaped  head.  When  there 
was  an  expressionless  smile  there  was  a  little  more  sunshine  for 
him.  His  affection  was  the  pure,  natural,  kindred  love. 

One  day,  Mrs.  Martin  called  Miff  over  and  asked  him  what  he 
would  call  his  sister. 

"  Baby,  to  be  sure,"  he  answered. 

"  No,  that  won't  do;  you  must  give  her  some  nice  lady's  name.'* 

"  Call  her  somethin'  that'll  make  her  good,"  said  Miff. 

"  Let  us  call  her  Bona— that  means  good,"  said  Mrs.  Martin. 

And  Miff  was  satisfied,  and  as  he  called  his  little  sister  Bona 
for  the  first  time,  he  baptized  her  with  a  kiss,  and  was  happy  in 
having  a  sister  with  such  a  splendid  name. 

In  the  city,  at  this  time,  was  a  noble,  self-sacrificing  woman 
who  was  looking  after  homeless  and  motherless  children.  A  sys- 


THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER.  5 

tern  of  schools,  called  children's  gardens,  was  established,  and 
into  these  kindergartens  were  gathered  many  a  child  who  re- 
ceived such  moral  and  religious  instructions  that  their  after  lives 
were  made  a  satisfaction  to  themselves  and  a  glory  and  honor  to 
humanity.  Mrs.  Kate  Benson  was  at  the  head  of  this  work;  she 
perfected  the  plans,  and,  by  her  own  personality,  overcame  much 
of  the  prejudice  that  existed  against  all  practical  work  in  the 
way  of  reform. 

Benton  Park  knew  Mrs.  Benson.  Once  she  had  taken  a  moth- 
erless child  from  the  place,  and  had  given  it  a  home.  Mrs.  Mar- 
tin would  willingly  have  kept  Bona,  but  alas,  poverty  forbade, 
as  it  has  often,  before  and  since,  a  generous  impulse. 

Kenwood  was  not  consulted.  He  never  contributed  a  cent 
toward  the  child's  support,  and  did  not  even  give  a  father's  love. 

Mrs.  Benson,  on  learning  the  history  of  Bona,  gladly  accepted 
the  protegee.  Alas  for  poor  Miff,  when  he  returned,  Bona  was 
not  to  be  seen. 

"  Where  is  Bona?"  was  his  first  inquiry.  When  told  a  good 
woman  had  come  for  his  sister,  he  insisted  that  a  bad  woman,  a 
wicked  woman,  had  taken  his  Bona. 

When  Jared  Kenwood  learned  that  his  little  daughter  had  been 
taken  charge  of  by  a  charitable  lady,  he  began  to  curse  the 
women  in  general,  who  were  always  bothering  poor  folks  under 
the  guise  of  charity,  yet  their  main  object  was  to  get  a  man  into 
church,  in  order  to  get  collections  from  him.  He  took  Miff  by 
the  hand,  and  together  they  went  to  the  corner  saloon,  and 
there,  in  the  crowd  of  half-drunken  loafers,  he  told  his  tale  of 
woe,  and  heard  the  words  of  sympathy  expressed  by  those  pres- 
ent. 

Miff's  hands  twitched.  His  eyes  flashed,  and,  looking  up  de- 
fiantly, he  said:  "  I  am  going  to  get  my  sister  back.  The  bad 
woman" — and  tears  choked  his  utterance.  The  bar-maid  gave 


t>  THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER. 

him  a  glass  of  beer  to  drink.  The  loafers  cheered  him  and  called 
him  a  little  man,  and  petted  his  tendency  to  their  own  fallen  es- 
tate. In  this  corner  saloon — call  it  a  grocery  store;  dignify  it 
.by  any  name  you  please;  call  it  a  Crystal  Palace,  Saints'  Best, 
Sinners'  Retreat,  Palace  Grocery  Store,  The  Elite;  call  it  Para- 
dise, if  you  choose — the  fact  remains  that  no  name  will  ever 
remove  the  evil  it  has  done  nor  lessen  the  influence  in  destroy- 
ing the  children  who  frequent  the  place  to  perform  a  mother's 
errand. 

Miff  grew  up  in  the  company  of  his  father,  who  liked  him 
because  he  was  a  lovable  child — a  mixture  of  the  good  and  bad, 
a  boy  with  a  capacity  for  good,  but  trained  to  evil.  A  tender 
and  refined  mother  had  guarded  his  existence  until  he  was  six 
years  of  age;  then  a  father's  evil  associates  and  a  father's  bad 
example  influenced  him.  Miff  was  of  the  street;  upon  the  high- 
way he  lived,  and  the  alleys  were  his  retreat.  He  had  a  home — 
a  cold,  comfortless  home.  The  sunshine  and  the  companion- 
ship of  the  street  were  dearer  to  him  than  his  cheerless  room. 
Almost  every  day  he  would  inquire  of  Mrs.  Martin  for  Bona, 
and  his  grief  did  not  lessen  with  time.  The  little  sister  had 
made  an  impression  upon  his  childish  heart. 

One  day  he  was  playing  in  the  sand  on  one  of  the  hills  back 
of  Benton  Park,  where  he  met  a  little  girl  about  his  own  age. 
They  pulled  up  the  weeds  and  tossed  the  sand  into  each  oth- 
er's eyes,  and  Miff,  to  give  his  mate  a  fair  advantage,  threw 
against  the  sea  breeze.  At  last,  becoming  tired  of  the  sport, 
he  said  to  her  abruptly: 
"What  is  your  name?" 

Not  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  pulled  her  down  on  the  sand 
by  his  side  and  told  her  about  the  wicked  charity  woman  -,vho 
took  his  sister  Bona.  It  was  a  pitiful  story,  and  every  time  he 
told  it  the  sadness  became. more  marked. 


THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER.  7 

While  they  were  talking,  a  policeman  approached  them. 

"  That  is  a  charity  man,"  said  the  little  girl.  "  He  took  my 
brother  for  takin'  something  from  Shinlers." 

At  this  information  the  little  couple  started  for  Benton  Park. 
When  near  the  place,  Miff  again  asked  the  girl  her  name,  and 
learned  that  she  was  called  Viola. 

They  found  a  man  waiting  at  Mrs.  Martin's  for  their  return. 
As  soon  as  they  arrived,  Mrs.  Martin  told  Miff  that  a  real  nice 
old  man  wanted  him  to  go  with  him  and  grow  up  to  be  a  fine 
man,  so  that  when  he  would  find  his  sister  she  would  be  proud 
of  having  such  a  nice  brother.  The  information  startled  Miff. 

"  Is  he  a  charity  man?''  And,  not  waiting  for  an  answer,  he 
fied  from  the  room  and  ran  down  the  street  toward  the  corner 
saloon.  "It's  a  charity  man  after  me!"  he  yelled  back  to  Vi- 
ola, as  he  saw  her  running  after  him  at  a  speed  nearly  as  rapid, 
as  his  own. 


CHAPTER   II. 

"  The  children  figure  in  the  giant  mass 
Of  thirgs  to  come." 

Down  the  street  Miff  and  Viola  ran,  their  speed  diminishing1 
with  their  fear.  They  halted  at  last  in  front  of  a  dwelling,  on 
which  the  sign  "  For  Rent"  had  been  obscured  by  the  corroding 
influence  of  time.  They  stood,  hesitated  a  moment;  then  Miff, 
taking  Viola  by  the  hand,  crept  through  a  narrow  opening  in 
the  fence,  and,  going  to  the  rear  of  the  house,  they  looked  for 
a  hiding-place.  A  basemenc  door  was  open.  Trembling  with 
excitement,  and  believing  that  the  charity  man  was  close  behind, 
determined  to  catch  them,  the  couple  fearlessly  entered  where 
women  would  not  dare  to  tread.  The  dampness  of  the  cellar, 
the  darkness,  and  now  and  then  the  move  of  some  harmless 
insect,  perhaps  the  fluttering  of  a  bat,  made  it  decidedly  dis- 
agreeable for  so  young  a  twain.  They  crept  into  a  corner,  and 
economized  as  much  space  as  possible.  His  shoulder  touched 
hers,  cheek  caressed  cheek,  eye  confided  in  eye.  The  trust  and 
confidence  of  a  woman  will  make  the  most  arrant  coward  valor- 
ous, and  Viola,  by  some  freak  of  human  nature,  trusted  her  little 
companion,  Miff. 

The  darkness  of  night  coming  over  the  city  did  not  change  the 
light  of  their  hiding-place.  The  fog  at  sunrise  was  not  even 
noticed  by  them.  They  slept  on.  Viola  awoke.  Miff  was 
sleeping  still.  His  fingers  were  entwined  in  her  hair.  One 
hand  was  in  his  pocket.  His  body  curled  up  like  a  ball.  Viola 
rubbed  her  eyes  with  a  doubled  fist,  and  then,  looking  fondly  a 
moment  at  Miff,  leaned  over  and  kissed  him.  He  uttered  the 


THE    STREET    AND     THE    FLOWER.  9 

word  "  mother,"  and  opened  his  eyes.  The  kiss  to  him  was  a 
mother's  benediction.  He  was  no  doubt  transferred  to  Para- 
dise— the  happy  land  of  dreams.  Viola's  kiss  made  the  dream 
of  his  mother  real  in  the  awakening  moment,  but  it  dispelled 
the  illusion,  and  the  transportation  from  dreamland  left  him, 
as  it  does  all,  in  a  cold  and  uncharitable  world.  When  he  was 
wide  awake  he  told  Viola  that  his  mother  had  come  back,  and 
that  just  before  he  awoke  she  had  kissed  him. 

"  Did  she  ?   why,  I  did  too,"  said  Viola. 

"  And  she  put  my  hair  back  this  way,"  continued  Miff,  as  he 
stroked  his  hair. 

"  That's  what  I  was  doing,  too." 

A  quizzical  look  came  into  Miff's  face.  He  did  not  quite  un- 
derstand a  mother's  kiss,  and  could  not  remember  that  Viola 
kissed  him. 

"I  am  awful  hungry,"  pleaded  Viola. 

Miff  took  some  sassafras  and  some  browned  coffee,  which  he 
had  supplied  himself  with  from  the  counter  of  the  corner  saloon 
— where  it  is  generally  kept  to  purify  the  breath  after  polluting 
the  throat  with  bad  whiskey — from  his  pocket,  and  soon  they 
were  enjoying  their  frugal  meal.  The  breakfast  was  suddenly 
interrupted  by  slow,  measured  sounds  on  the  stairs.  It  was  the 
measured  sound  of  step  after  step,  the  somewhat  sharper  sound 
of  a  cane,  as  it  did  its  master's  service  descending  the  stairs.  The 
children  were  frightened.  They  huddled  together,  and  Viola 
whispered:  "What  will  we  do?"  The  sound  came  nearer. 
The  last  step  seemed  to  be  reached.  Miff  placed  Viola  in  a  cor- 
ner, and  taking  a  board  placed  it  in  front  of  her,  and  then  stood 
guard.  He  saw  a  door  opening.  The  form  of  a  man  approach- 
ing. His  voice  trembling  too  much  to  do  him  service,  yet  ready 
to  protect  his  companion,  he  cried  out: 

"  Viola  is  not  here!  " 


10  THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

"  And  who  are  you,  my  little  man  ?  "  was  spoken  in  a  kindly 
voice. 

Miff  was  afraid,  though — a  kind  voice  is  as  full  of  treachery  to  a 
child  as  to  a  man,  at  times.  He  stood  against  the  board  so  hard 
that  a  sob  was  heard,  and  a  plaintive  "  Don't "  from  Viola. 

"  Come,  my  little  fellow,  why  did  you  come  here  and  who  is 
that  behind  the  board  ?  " 

The  questioner  was  Oswald  Grayson,  a  peculiar  man.  His 
features  were  no  index  to  his  character.  A  huge  lump  deformed 
his  back.  His  head  was  large  while  his  limbs  were  diminutive; 
in  fact,  his  body  was  so  out  of  proportion  that  he  was  compelled 
to  reverse  the  common  process  of  putting  on  a  shirt.  His  form 
was  abnormal — too  ill-shaped  to  be  agreeable,  and  not  enough 
to  arouse  active  pity.  He  was  not  poor,  neither  was  he  rich; 
for  wealth  is  measured  by  health,  and  personal  property  is  worth 
a  world  if  it  consist*  in  a  handsome  face  and  form.  Oswald 
Grayson  lived  alone.  The  neighbors  knew  him  only  to  shun 
him,  and  the  sii-eet  knew  him  not. ,  .The  old  house  was  his  abid- 
ing place.  He  was  as  sensitive  as  the  plant  that  withers  at  a 
touch,  and  the  world  was  to  him  no  more  than  an  unheard  of 
country  is  to  us.  The  house  that  everybody  supposed  was  un- 
occupied was  Oswald  Grayson's  home. 

Miff  did  not  answer  his  inquiry,  but  Viola,  with  the  keen  per- 
ception of  her  nature,  stepped  from  behind  the  board  and  said: 

"  It's  me."  She  recognized  kindness  in  the  voice,  and  dreaded 
not  the  man's  presence.  Seeing  him,  excited  her  pity,  while  it 
aroused  Miff's  fears. 

Mr.  Grayson  took  the  children,  Miff  reluctantly,  Viola  will- 
ingly, up  the  stairs,  and  gave  them  a  bountiful  supply  of  bis  own 
breakfast.  They  ate  heartily,  although  they  believed  they  were 
the  guests  of  a  veritable  ghost.  Rumor  said  the  old  house  was 
haunted,  and  surely  the  presence  of  Grayson  gave  credence  to 


THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER.  11 

the  story.  Mr.  Grayson  went  over  to  Viola,  and,  taking  her  on 
his  knee,  began  to  talk  to  her.  Soon  they  were  engaged  in  an 
interesting  conversation.  Miff' eyed  them  suspiciously. 

"  And  so  your  name  is  Viola,  and  you  live  at  Benton  Park. 
Now,  won't  you  tell  me  your  other  name  ?" 

"It  is  Viola  Proctor." 

At  the  mention  of  the  name,  the  color  left  the  old  man's  face, 
and  a  deep,  harsh  and  unnatural  look  overspread  his  counten- 
ance. He  rudely  pushed  Viola  from  his  knee,  and  muttered  un- 
intelligible invectives.  "I  knew  it;  the  face  was  like  hers — as 
winning,  as  lovable,  and  in  her  willingness  to  follow  me  and  to 
be  with  me,  I  can  trace  her  mother's  nature.  A  nature  willing 
but  weak,  strong  to  attract,  but  repelling  every  attention  that 
did  not  gratify  her  vanity."  Going  to  an  old  stand,  he  unfolded 
a  package  of  letters,  and  took  out  a  withered  violet.  The  chil- 
dren watched  him,  for  his  movements  were  strange,  and  his  agi- 
tation perceptible  even  to  them. 

He  held  the  violet  in  his  hand,  and,  raising  it  on  a  level  _witb 
his  eyes,  fixed  his  gaze  upon  it.  "  Oh,  that  my  affection  could 
wither  like  the  violet,  and  that  remembrance  would  fade  like  its 
color!  The  years  of  the  past  rise  before  me.  I  sec  again  and 
live  over  the  scenes  of  twenty  years  ago.  The  vision  of  a  beau- 
tiful woman  rises  before  me  as  if  to  mock  my  deformity.  I  smile 
and  she  smiles  in  return.  I  love  and  she  loves  in  return;  but 
alas,  the  sacrifice  was  too  great  for  her,  and  those  letters,  yellowed 
with  age,  and  this  faded  violet,  are  all  that  linger  of  a  lingering 
affection.  Viola  Proctor — and  the  violet.  Did  Edna  remember 
the  flowers,  and  did  she  christen  her  child — come  Viola."  And 
he  took  the  little  girl  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  tenderly. 

Miff,  ever  restless,  took  Viola  by  the  hand  as  soon  as  Mr. 
Grayson  put  her  down,  and  drew  her  towards  the  door,  but  Mr. 
Grayson  did  not  let  them  go  until  he  had  won  their  childish  con- 


12  THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER. 

fidence  and  friendship  by  several  gifts.  Viola  cariied  with  her  a 
bunch  of  violets. 

The  children  returned  to  Benton  Park.  The  charity  man  was 
no  longer  there,  unfortunately  for  Miff.  The  children's  absence 
from  Benton  Park  was  not  commented  upon.  A  drunken  father 
asked : 

"  Where's  my  boy  to-night?"  and  went  on  drinking;  and 
Edna  Proctor  knew  not,  and  neither  did  she  care,  of  the  where- 
abouts of  Viola.  A  hard  fate  had  crushed  out  a  mother's  affec- 
tion. The  world  and  life  among  the  low  had  dulled  her  sensibil- 
ities until  she  was  worse  than  a  brute,  because  the  instincts  of 
the  animal  are  never  debased.  She  stood  behind  a  bar  on  Bar- 
bary  Coast. 

From  the  first  night  with  Mr.  Grayson,  Miff  and  Viola  prowled 
the  streets  as  chums.  Their  condition  was  to  be  in  an  unwashed, 
forlorn,  uncared-for  and  hungry  state.  They  wandered  about 
the  dirty  streets,  picking  up  a  living  as  best  they  could.  They 
grew  in  years  and  ignorance,  and  were  worthy  members  of  the 
hoodlum  society,  in  which  organization  they  were  elected  honor- 
ary members  for  life,  or  as  long  as  their  good  behavior  continued. 
The  street  was  their  home;  their  mode  of  living  precarious.  The 
necessities  of  life  made  them  necessarily  bad.  If  sent  for  beer, 
they  would  stop  to  taste,  to  sip.  Their  lives  were  in  the  same 
channel,  though  for  weeks  they  were  separated.  Viola  was  with 
her  mother  some,  and  Miff  kept  up  a  speaking  acquaintance  with 
his  father. 

Our  castaway,  Viola,  for  she  was  no  better,  attracted  one  day 
by  a  little  bit  of  color  while  sprawling  in  the  back  yard  with  some 
other  children,  inhaled  the  fragrance  of  a  violet.  Unconsciously 
she  watched  it.  The  other  children  had  a  monopoly  of  the  play, 
so  they  did  not  disturb  her.  She  fell  asleep  by  its  side  and 
dreamed,  perhaps,  of  bright  flowers,  graceful  forms  and  a  para- 


THE    STREET    AKD    THE    FLOWER.  13 

dise  more  beautiful  than  ever  her  fancy  pictured.  She  trans- 
planted the  violet  into  a  mug,  and  placed  it  in  her  mother's  dis- 
mal room.  She  clasped  her  hands  in  joy  when  she  saw  it  was 
growing  and  continuing  to  bloom  more  and  more  beautiful. 
She  wondered  and  wondered,  and  unconsciously  exercised  the 
innate  sense  of  worship  of  the  beautiful,  which  is  implanted  in 
every  human  heart,  and  causes  the  merest  babes  to  rejoice  at 
the  light  and  shapes,  the  color  and  proportion  of  all  objects, 
and  to  be  entranced  by  the  harmony  of  sound.  Viola  loved  the 
flower  passionately.  Her  infatuation  was  noticed.  Perhaps 
she  rejoiced  in  the  color  and  light  of  the  flower,  because  she 
listened  not  to  the  harmony  of  a  mother's  lullaby.  A  nature 
has  capacities;  ambition  satisfies  the  love  of  the  soul,  instead  of 
the  diviner  love  of  worn  in.  Man  loves  woman  less  because  he 
loves  success  more,  aad  woman  loves  man  more  because  she 
loves  success  less.  Thus  it  was  with  the  child.  She  loved  the 
violet  more  because  she  loved  her  mother  less. 

One  day,  when  watering  the  flower  with  water  she  carried  in 
the  hollow  of  her  little  hand,  her  mother  passed  by,  and,  seeing 
her,  knocked  the  mug  from  the  stand,  crushing  the  stem  and 
destroying  her  flower.  The  grief  of  Viola  was  intense.  She 
gave  her  mother  a  bewildered,  sad,  yet  passionate  look.  Picking 
up  the  flower,  she  put  it  in  the  bosom  of  her  old,  faded  dress. 
She  carried  it  for  days  concealed  thus,  and  when  the  flower  bore 
no  resemblance  to  its  former  beauty  she  cried  most  piteously. 
But,  alas,  it  was  not  only  the  violet  that  was  crushed,  but  Viola 
was  trodden  down.  Every  good  motive,  every  noble  impulse, 
was  crushed  as  was  the  violet  in  its  infancy.  Viola  is  the  flower 
of  the  street.  She  was  planted  there;  watered  in  early  child- 
hood by  the  goodness  of  God;  but  no  flower  can  grow  and  blos- 
som and  make  fragrant  the  air,  that  is  left  uncared  for  in  the 
street. 


14  THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

Her  mother  sent  her  to  the  corner  to  buy  some  fruit,  and 
ordered  her  to  take,  when  no  one  was  looking,  some  peaches. 
This  was  her  first  lesson  in  practical  morality.  Her  success 
made  her  bold,  and  when  she  wanted  anything  there  was  no 
commandment  to  bother  her  conscience. 

Miff  and  Viola  would  wander  on  the  street  for  days  at  a  time, 
watching  eagerly  for  opportunities  to  secure  anything  by  stealth 
or  sharpness.  They  became  experts,  professionals.  They  were 
found  out,  of  course;  but  every  one  seemed  to  be  aware  of  their 
helpless  condition,  and  let  them  off  with  a  rap  over  the  head  or 
a  twist  of  the  ear. 

Miff's  practical  lesson  on  morals  one  day  was  never  forgotten 
by  her. 

A  few  weeks  after  they  had  become  professionals,  Miff  ob- 
served Viola  sitting  on  the  pavement  near  a  fruit  stand,  and  set 
himself  to  watch.  Viola  shifted  her  position  occasionally,  get- 
ting nearer  and  nearer,  until  she  was  quite  close  to  the  stand. 
Soon  one  hand  reached  out  and  brought  back  a  paper  of  grapes; 
then  another  attempt  was  made;  then  her  position  was  slowly 
shifted  until  she  was  behind  the  corner  again.  Miff  laughed 
heartily,  but  looked  serious  as  he  saw  Viola  running  at  full 
speed  down  the  street.  He  started  after  her  on  a  run.  She 
heard  his  footsteps,  and,  thinking  a  policeman  was  after  her, 
increased  her  pace.  A  race  began.  Round  corners,  through 
alleys,  up  and  down  streets.  As  they  were  running  up  Pacific 
street,  Viola  threw  down  the  grapes.  Miff  stopped,  picked 
them  up,  and  began  feasting.  Viola  looked  around,  and  saw 
Miff  with  the  grapes.  She  caoie  back  panting,  but  smiling. 

"Oh,  Miff,"  cried  Viola,  "I  thought  somebody  was  after 
me." 

Then  Miff  told  her  that  it  was  the  very  worst  policy  to  run, 
after  taking  anything,  when  no  one  was  looking. 


THE    STREET     AND    THE    FLOWER.  15 

He  passed  over  the  bag  of  grapes  to  her,  and  gave  her  a 
peach  that  he  had  pocketed  a  few  moments  before. 

They  returned  together  to  Benton  Park,  talking  over  their 
prospects  for  the  morrow.  The  minutes — light  to  some,  heavy 
to  some,  leaving  in  their  track  woe  and  joy;  golden  minutes, 
leaden  minutes;  for  some  happiness,  for  others  grief — flew  by. 
The  life  of  Miff  and  Viola  is  a  question  for  the  wisest  philoso- 
phers of  social  problems  to  settle.  The  theory  of  their  lives 
and  reformation,  the  school  boy's  philosophy  is  adequate  to 
such  a  demand.  But,  looking  at  them  from  every  aspect,  tak- 
ing into  consideration  their  moral  and  physical  faculties — and 
souls  to  be  saved,  who  can  kindle  a  blaze  from  such  hard  flint, 
and  make  practical  a,  theory  for  the  development  of  the  hood- 
lum element  in  society? 

What  resemblance  do  Miff  and  Viola  bear  to  that  poetical 
image  which  declares  man  to  be  noble  in  reason,  infinite  in  fac- 
ulty, express  and  admirable  in  form  and  bearing,  like  an  angel 
in  action,  like  a  god  in  apprehension,  the  beauty  of  the  world, 
the  paragon  of  animals  ?  It  is  best  for  us  not  to  examine  too 
curiously,  for  there  is  shame  to  the  human  race  in  the  lives  of 
Miff  and  Viola,  the  street  and  the  flower.  The  redeeming  feat- 
ure is  found  in  Bona,  who  will  walk  through  our  next  chapter, 
making  it  radiant  with  her  presence. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  No  mother  who  stands  on  low  ground  herself  can  hope  to  place  her 
children  on  a  loftier  plane.  They  may  reach  it,  but  it  will  not  be  through 
her." 

Mrs.  Kate  Benson  was  a  lovable  woman.  We  call  her  a  lova- 
ble woman  because  all  women  are  not  lovable.  Indeed,  we 
consider  them  a  rarity.  A  sweet  temper,  a  kind  disposition,  a 
philanthropy  that  embodied  the  world's  friendliness,  and  a 
niind  that  recognized  all  creeds,  were  her  prominent  character- 
istics. She  founded  a  home  for  little  girls,  and  in  this  home 
Bona  was  placed.-  Each  year,  from  the  slums  of  the  city,  she 
would  gather  three  infants,  and  take  them  under  her  care;  and 
the  recognition  seemed  to  come  to  her  in  this  world,  for,  while 
her  hair  is  slightly  tinged  with  gray,  she  is  still  young  enough 
to  appreciate  the  gratitude  of  her  matured  protegees.  Ingrati- 
tude may  be  a  prominent  trait  of  human  character,  but  future 
years  will  have  to  change  our  present  opinion  before  we  accuse 
humanity  of  such  an  ignoble  part. 

Bona  was  dearly  loved  by  Mrs.  Benson,  and  "  Mother"  lisped 
Bona,  as  soon  as  she  could  speak.  Mrs.  Benson  placed  her  in  a 
Kindergarten  school,  and  there,  under  the  excellent  influence  of 
such  a  praiseworthy  system  of  teaching,  and  the  careful  train- 
ing, B'jna  grew  in  years  and  beauty.  At  the  age  of  ten,  she 
joined  the  Flower  Mission  Society,  and  took  a  great  delight  in 
charitable  work.  One  day,  while  on  her  way  to  the  jail,  she 
saw  a  queer  couple  on  the  street.  A  ragged  boy  of  seventeen 
and  a  girl  a  few  years  younger — hoodlums,  yes,  veritable  vaga- 
bonds. Legitimate  children  of  San  Francisco's  low-ebb  society. 


THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER.  17 

The  boy's  trousers  were  tattered  at  the  edges — were  old, 
patched,  torn,  and  large  enough  for  two  such  boys.  The  girl 
was  attired  in  a  new  calico,  and  she  all  the  while  was  turning 
half  around  as  if  to  see  if  it  fit  her  on  the  back.  The  dress  was 
a  present  to  her  from  Oswald  Grayson,  the  hermit  of  the  haunt- 
ed house.  Some  years  have  passed  since  we  saw  them  before, 
yet  we  recognize  in  the  hoodlums  Miff  and  Viola.  Miff  stopped 
and  looked  at  Boua,  stared  at  her,  and,  taking  a  bunch  of  her 
flowers,  buried  his  face  among  the  buds  and  blossoms,  as  if  to 
get  the  sweetest  perfume.  Viola,  Miff's  constant  companion  and 
frequently  his  imitator,  grabbed  another  bunch  and  did  likewise. 

Bona  looked  at  them  in  astonishment. 

"  Give  me  my  flowers,"  she  said,  kindly. 

:<  Won't  you  buy  a  bouquet,  please,  from  a  poor  orphan 
boy  ?  "  said  Miff,  as  he  offered  Bona  one  of  the  stolen  bunches. 

Viola  laughed  heartily  as  Bona  handed  him  the  required 
dime. 

"  Buy  mine,  too;  I  want  something  to  eat."  And  she  threw 
such  a  hungry  look  in  her  eyes,  and  in  her  voice  such  a  woeful 
tone,  that  Bona  made  the  second  purchase,  and  was  a3  well  off 
in  her  bargain  as  most  people  who  buy  from  beggars. 

The  two  hoodlums  were  not  satisfied  with  their  bargain. 
They  wanted  more,  and  Miff,  understanding  the  power  of  flat- 
tery, said:  "You're  a  nice  little  girl.  Won't  you  give  us 
somethin'  towards  gettin'  a  pair  of  shoes  ? "  He  looked  dole- 
fully at  his  feet,  and  thrust  his  toes  in  such  a  way  as  to  make 
the  holes  in  the  leather  very  conspicuous. 

In  reply,  Bona  drew  from  her  pocket  a  ticket  of  invitation  to 
the  children's  prayer  meeting  on  Pacific  street,  and  handed  it 
to  him.  Viola,  thinking  it  a  ticket  for  charity,  held  out  her 
hand  for  one.  Miff  gave  a  peculiar  whistle  when  he  saw  the 
nature  of  the  card.  He  could  not  read,  yet  had  learned  to  spell 


18  THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER. 

before  his  mother  died,  and  frequently  amused  himself  by 
spelling  words  on  signs.  By  his  clan  he  was  considered  a 
highly-educated  gentleman.  Viola  trusted  all  to  his  great  wis- 
dom and  learning.  Their  heads  were  very  close  together,  as 
Miff  slowly  spelt  and  pronounced:  "Admit  the  bearer  to  chil- 
dren's prayer  meeting  and  supper." 

"  Prayer  meeting  and  supper.  Say,  can  we  have  the  supper 
without  the  prayer  meeting  ?  " 

The  two  hoodlums  laughed  so  heartily  that  Bona  started  on  a 
run.  Miff,  with  no  evil  intentions  whatever,  darted  after  her  at 
full  speed,  and  Viola  kept  up  in  the  rear.  A  heavy  hand  was 
placed  on  Miff's  shoulder,  and  Viola  darted  around  a  corner. 
Bona  ran  on. 

"  Here,  sir." 

"  I  did  not  mean  any  harm,  sir.  I  was  only  trying  to  catch 
her  to  give  them  back,"  said  Miff,  as  he  held  to  view  the  supper 
and  prayer  meeting  tickets.  The  rail  form  of  Dr.  Halstead 
towered  over  Miff;  the  sharp  eyes  assumed  a  stern  look,  and 
made  him  tremble  with  fear. 

Bona  saw  Miff  in  the  hands  of  Dr.  Halstead,  and,  forgetting 
her  fear,  stopped  and  returned. 

"Please,  sir,"  she  said,  "  let  him  go.  He  did  not  mean  to 
hurt  me." 

"No,  miss;  I  only  wanted  to  thank  you  for  those  tickets,  and 
for  buying  my  bouquets."  And  the  fellow  blushed  with  shame 
as  he  remembered  the  bouquets. 

Dr.  Halstead,  amused  at  the  turn  affairs  had  taken,  still  held 
to  the  hoodlum.  "  I  think,  sir,  I  will  put  you  in  the  House  of 
Correction." 

"  Oh,  don't,  sir.  I  have  been  there  |three  times,  and  was 
beaten  nearly  dead." 

"  What  do  you  do  for  a  living?'1 


THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER.  19 

"We  sell  flowers.  We  do  anything.  Viola  scrubs  some- 
times, and  I  watch  places  for  people.  We  are  not  vagabonds." 

The  sympathies  of  Bona  were  now  fully  aroused,  and    she 
said  again: 
'  "Please  let  him  go." 

Dr.  Halstead  took  from  his  pocket  a  half  dollar,  and  gave  it 
to  Miff,  and  invited  him  to  visit  his  night  school,  and  fit  himself 
to  be  a  man.  Bona's  plea  was  effective,  and  Miff  started  off  to 
hunt  his  almost  inseparable  companion,  Viola,  but  not  until 
Bona's  little  hand  rested  in  his.  A  look,  a  steady  gaze,  and  an 
indescribable  something  passed  between  them — not  recognition, 
but  the  first  impulse  of  an  affinity  that  governs  the  likes  and 
dislikes  of  all  the  relations  of  life. 

"Indiscriminate  charity  again,"  said  Dr.  Halstead,  as  he 
walked  down  the  street,  musing  on  the  incident.  "  I  wonder  if 
in  giving  that  worthless  fellow  a  half  dollar  I  have  not  assisted 
in  making  a  criminal.  Charity,  after  all,  is  a  reward  for  crime, 
and  indiscriminate  charity  would  make  beggars  of  us  all,  and 
beggary  is  only  a  step  from  crime.  An  honest  beggar  is  like  an 
honest  thief." 

"  Well,  you  should  get  out  of  my  way,"  said  Dr.  Halstead,  as 
he  almost  stumbled  over  a  small  girl  on  the  street. 

"  I'm  hurt,"  piteously  cried  the  girl,  and  two  big  tears  glist- 
ened in  her  eyes,  which  she  tried  to  make  as  conspicuous  as 
possible  by  having  them  run  down  the  groove  in  her  face. 

Dr.  Halstead  looked  at  her  kindly.  Kindness  always  reaps 
its  own  reward,  for  Viola  began:  "  Mamma  sent  me  out  to  buy 
some  bread,  and  I  lost  the  money  here."  And  she  made  a  dili- 
gent search,  but  of  course  could  not  find  that  which  she  had  not 
lost.  But  she  succeeded  in  bringing  some  tears  to  the  surface, 
and  with  an  unnatural  boo-hoo  the  sympathies  of  Dr.  Halstead 
were  again  aroused,  and,  taking  from  his  pocket  a  fifty- cent 


20  '       THE  STKEET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

piece, "gave  it  to  Viola,  who  looked  up,  thanked  him,  and  then 
made  away  as  rapidly  as  possible,  for  she  could  hardly  keep 
back  the  gleam  of  satisfaction. 

"  Hello,  we're  in  luck  to-day — a  dollar  and  twenty  cents  and 
two  prayer  meeting  tickets.  Enough  to  live  on  a  week/'  said 
Miff.  "  That  was  a  good  job  we  put  up  on  the  old  man.  He  is 
a  regular  sympathizer,  ain't  he  ?  I  told  you  if  you  would  hurry 
and  play  the  game,  you'd  make  something. " 

Dr.  Halstead  walked  a  few  steps;  then  turned  and  looked  in 
the  direction  Yiola  had  taken. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  thought,  "  if  that  was  indiscriminate  charity 
again.  Well,  the  poor  girl  is  welcome  to  it.  I  only  wish  that 
there  was  more  individual  charity.  " 

He  walked  on  down  until  he  reached  Pacific  street,  and 
there,  under  the  shadow  of  the  sign  "  Children's  Home,"  he 
entered.  The  faces  of  a  score  of  children  were  brightened  by 
his  presence.  He  was  in  his  own  home,  built  by  his  money,  for 
the  purpose  of  training  children  of  the  street  in  useful  employ- 
ments. They  were  gathered  from  the  streets  and  from  the 
hovels  of  the  poor.  The  low,  the  vile — ay,  the  worst  of  man- 
kind— were  gathered  here;  but  a  week  had  a  wonderful  influ- 
ence on  their  lives.  A  week  of  good  food,  good  lodgings  and 
kindness  made  them  new  creatures.  As  he  looked  upon  their 
busy  fingers,  or  listened  to  their  lessons,  no  conscience  accused 
him  of  mistaken  charity.  A  consciousness  of  noble  work  of 
reformation,  of  the  rescuing  of  lives  from  shame  and  degrada- 
tion, came  to  him  as  he  studied  his  work. 

Dr.  Halstead,  the  charity  man — for  it  was  he  who  endeavored 
to  place  Miff,  years  ago,  under  good  influence,  away  from  the 
influence  of  the  street,  of  parental  crime,  the  crime  of  a  bad 
example— was  a  reformer,  an  ideal  reformer;  not  a  blatant 
talker,  but  a  doer.  He  was  every  inch  a  man;  measure  as  you 


THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER.  21 

will,  the  dimensions  of  a  square  man  will  always  be  found.  His 
face  was  beautiful — not  with  the  lines  of  beauty,  but  with  the 
furrows  of  care.  His  tall  form  was  slightly  stooped — curved, 
not  by  dissipation,  but  by  burdens  of  an  active  life.  There  are 
a  great  many  people  born  in  the  world  who  are  not  wanted. 
They  are  like  a  standing  army  in  time  of  peace — no  earthly 
good.  The  world,  they  say,  owes  them  a  living.  They  gener- 
ally get  it  through  prison  bars. 

Dr.  Halstead  was  not  a  man  of  this  type.  He  was  a  man  of 
large  wealth,  and  with  a  liberal  spirit  as  broad  as  humanity. 
Poverty  to  some  is  a  load,  and  wealth  is  a  load  to  others.  Thus 
it  is  that  we  can  bear  each  other's  burdens.  Dr.  Halstead  en- 
deavored not  to  lift  the  burden  of  poverty  so  much  as  the  bur- 
den of  evil  and  vitiated  habit,  and  his  charity  did  not  begin  at 
home,  but  at  the  spring-time  of  life.  Charity  should  begin 
with  the  rising  generation.  The  old  are  past  redemption. 

Mrs.  Benson  waited  a  long  while  for  the  return  of  Bona;  the 
darling  girl  was  her  favorite.  There  was  nothing  of  a  past  life 
clinging  to  her.  The  ten  years  in  a  Kindergarten  and  excellent 
home  training  had  made  her  fine  in  thoughts,  graceful  in  action 
and  polite  in  manners.  The  day  passed,  and  no  Bona  came.  A. 
week  of  fruitless  search,  but  no  Bona.  Then  the  following  ad- 
vertisement appeared  in  the  "  Chronicle": 

LOST — A  child  ten  years  of  age;  small  for  her  age;  dark  hair;  full,  round, 
expressive  brown  eyes;  fair  complexion;  wore  a  sma1!  ring  on  her  finger,  en- 
graved Kindergarten;  a  dark  gingham  dress;  when  last  seen  was  on  her  way 
to  the  jail  with  some  flowers.  Any  information  will  be  thankfully  received 
by  Mrs.  Benson,  Van  Ness  Avenue. 

Dr.  Halstead,  noticing  the  advertisement,  sent  Mrs.  Benson  a 
note  informing  her  of  the  incident  that  happened  on  the  morning 
Bona  was  missed.  A  search  was  made  for  Miff.  When  found, 
and  told  the  mission  of  the  inquiries,  he  assumed  a  knowing 


22  THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

manner  and  refused  to  give  any  information  until  rewarded.  He 
recognized  the  sympathizer  in  Dr.  Halstead. 
.     "  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  for  five  dollars." 
He  got  his  five  dollars. 

"  I  was  going  up  Montgomery  street  one  morning,  and  met  a 
little  girl  about  ten  years  of  age.  She  was  carrying  a  lot  of  flow- 
ers. I  bought  some  from  her  and  then  sold  them  back  again. 
She  gave  me  a  dime  and  then  ran  off.  That's  all  I  know." 

A  dissatisfied  look  went  around,  and  Dr.  Halstead  and  Mrs. 
Benson  knew  that  Miff  had  legally  swindled  them  out  of  five 
dollars. 

A  few  moments  afterward  Miff  met  the  soiled  flower  of  the 
street,  Viola. 

"  I  made  a  big  stake;  look  here,"  as  he  held  up  the  five  dollar 
gold  piece.  "  I'll  soon  go  into  the  wholesale  swindling  business, 
if  I  keep  on  doing  so  well,"  said  Miff. 

"  I  am  so  glad,  because  you  will  take  me  to  the  theatre  to- 
night." 

"  I  am  real  sorry  the  little  girl  is  lost,  though." 
"  Say,"  says  Miff,  "  I  wonder  if  you  couldn't  make  something 
out  of  them,  too." 
' '  I'll  try." 

"  Yes,  but  wait  a  few  days.  Let  us  go  home  now." 
Down  the  street  to  an  unfrequented  portion  of  the  city  they 
go.  In  an  old  house,  weather-beaten  and  decayed,  standing  on 
a  square  and  houses  around  a  disgrace  to  any  city.  A  saloon 
is  in  the  basement.  The  young  hoodlums  go  up  the  stairs  laden 
with  dirt  and  reach  .a  cheerless  room.  An  old  straw  mattress 
serves  as  a  bed.  A  chair,  a  stool,  a  broken  mirror,  a  tin  basin, 
a  maHress  and  a  violet  in  bloom  are  all  that  are  in  the  room. 

Ever  since  Oswald  Grayson  had  called  Viola  a  violet,  and  since 
the  time  the  violet  was  crushed  by  her  mother's  willful  hand,  she 


THE    STREET    AND   THE    FLOWER.  23 

had  cherished  a  fond,  childish  affection  for  the  violet.  They 
ate  a  hearty  supper,  and,  agreeing  to  go  to  the  theatre  on  the 
next  night,  they  went  to  sleep.  They  were  lovers,  but  they  knew 
not  sentiment.  They  were  partners. 

Like  doves  they  were  mated,  but  their  cooing  we  do  not  un- 
derstand. They  were  ignorant  of  morals  and  religion.  It  is 
necessary  to  state  this  that  you  judge  them  not  harshly,  and  look 
upon  them  with  an  uncharitable  spirit.  They  slept  on.  The 
stars  shone  through  the  roof  overhead — the  eyes  of  God  watch- 
ing his  children.  Neither  Miff  nor  Viola  had  ever  looked  rever- 
ently toward  the  sky.  They  never  said  a  prayer.  The  great 
world  moves  on.  Mighty  men  of  science  prove  remarkable 
things,  but  Miff  and  Viola,  unconscious  of  all,  grow  deeper  and 
deeper  in  ignorance  and  crime. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"We  each  furnish  to  an  angel  who  stands  in  the  sun  a  single  observation." 

Ignorance  sleeps  late  in  the  morning.  Crime  hides  its  sinister 
face  from  the  rays  of  the  rising  sun.  The  honest  laborer  had 
earned  a  loaf  of  bread  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow  before  Miff  and 
Viola  were  aroused  from  their  slumbers. 

"  Come/'  said  Miff,  "  let  us  get  some  breakfast." 

Viola  lazily  gazed  for  a  moment  through  the  portals  of  the 
roof,  then  turned,  as  if  to  take  another  nap. 

"  Come,"  and  Miff  roughly  assisted  her  to  rise. 

"  Where  will  we  go  for  breakfast,  this  morning?"  asked  Viola. 

"  Let  us  go  up  town  and  eat  with  the  other  people,"  replied 
Miff. 

"  Well,  we  are  rich  now,  and  can  feast  the  "same  as  other 
folks." 

They  turned  the  corner  at  Montgomery  and  started  up  town. 
They  passed  a  window  ornamented  with  tempting  viands,  but  a 
gruff  waiter  standing  at  the  entrance  bid  them  go  on.  The  next 
place  they  quietly  sneaked  in,  and  sought  the  most  hidden  cor- 
ner. Their  inferiority  was  felt,  painfully  realized,  when  the  bet- 
ter trained  rudely  stared  at  the  hoodlums,  who  quailed  beneath 
the  gaze  of  the  reputed  polite.  The  waiter  espied  them  shortly  > 
and,  instead  of  taking  their  order,  gave  them  one  to  leave  di- 
rectly. 

"  It's  mean  that  won't  let  us  eat  an}7 where,"  said  Miff. 

Again  they  tried,  where  hundreds  were  being  fed,  but  none 
so  disconsolate  and  forlorn  as  Miff  and  Viola.  They  quietly 
pushed  open  the  door  and  took  a  seat  as  neai\the  exit  as  possible. 


THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER.  25 

Miff,  wiser  than  many  a  graduate,  took  from  his  pocket  the 
five-dollar  coin  and  placed  it  in  a  conspicuous  place  near 
his  plate.  When  the  waiter,  who  happened  to  be  one  of  the 
proprietors,  saw  the  gold  piece,  he  changed  his  half-formed  plan 
to  order  them  out,  and  bid  them  take  a  seat  in  a  corner. 

Miff  gave  Viola  the  bill  of  fare,  but  it  had  no  meaning  to  her. 
She  could  not  read.  Miff  managed  to  spell  out  the  articles  of 
diet  that  he  wanted — a  half  spring  chicken,  torn-cods,  a  sirloin 
steak,  potatoes,  hot  cakes,  chocolate  and  a  dozen  other  edibles. 
The  waiter  stared  in  amazement,  and  if  a  sight  of  the  golden 
coin  had  not  convinced  him  that  the  check  would  be  cashed,  Miff 
and  Viola  would  not  have  had  their  order  filled .  Thus  it  is  that 
money  wins.  If  you  give  a  man  money,  you  give  him  the  hom- 
age of  the  world.  Money  conquers  and  rules  with  a  despotic 
power.  Independence  is  greater  than  money,  but  without 
money  there  is  no  independence.  The  sight  of  a  five-dollar  coin 
enabled  Miff  and  Viola  to  secure  a  breakfast  at  a  fashionable 
restaurant,  and  a  flashing  diamond  on  the  shirt  bosom  of  a  de- 
based man  will  win  a  smile  from  the  proudest  lady  in  the  land. 

The  two  hungry  hoodlums  enjoyed  their  feast  immensely.  Miff 
paid  the  bill  with  the  air  of  a  millionaire,  and,  taking  Viola  by 
the  arm,  the  twain  walked  away  from  the  restaurant,  having  par- 
taken of  the  heartiest  meal  of  their  lives.  On  their  way  back  to 
their  home — what  a  fine  word  to  describe  these  quarters — Miff 
could  not  restrain  his  propensity  to  increase  his  material  wealth, 
and  lessen  considerably  his  standing  in  the  community,  by  tak- 
ing on  the  sly  anything  that  was  not  watched.  They  passed  by 
a  baker's  wagon,  and  inside  were  some  fine  loaves  of  bread. 
Miff  approached  the  wagon,  crept  to  the  open  door,  and  returned 
with  some  bread  and  several  pies  under  his  coat.  Viola  imitated 
his  action.  A  policeman  saw  her,  and  in  a  moment  the  club — 
the  wonderful  club,  the  useless  club,  the  club  of  the  policeman, 


26  THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER. 

a  relic  of  Roman  barbarism — was  raised  above  Miff's  head,  while 
the  bread  and  pies  fell  to  the  pavement,  the  visible  evidence  of 
guilt.  The  gruff  policeman — there  are  no  kind  policemen  in 
this  city — arrested  them  in  the  name  of  justice,  and  led  the 
trembling  pair  to  jail.  In  the  afternoon  the  Police  Court  was  to 
be  graced  by  their  presence. 

"  They  have  us  at  last.'' 

"  It  is  all  my  fault,  too,"  said  Viola. 

"  Well,  never  mind,"  replied  Miff;  :{  we  will  be  more  careful 
in  the  future."  And,  going  over  to  her,  stooped  and  kissed  her, 
and  then  turned  away. 

"  Come  back,"  said  Viola.  And,  as  he  turned,  she  threw  her 
arms  about  his  neck  and  kissed  him  again  and  again. 

The  jailer  passing,  halted,  and  opening  the  cell,  ordered  Viola 
to  follow.  The  two  were  separated. 

Do  you  suppose  that  they  should  express  sorrow  for  their  petty 
crime?  Perhaps  you  believe  in  the  motto,  "  Train  up  a  child  in 
the  way  it  should  go,  and  when  it  is  old  it  will  not  depart  there- 
from." If  so,  is  it  not  equally  true,  "  Train  up  a  child  in  the 
way  it  should  not  go,  and  when  it  is  old  it  will  not  depart  there- 
from." 

The  lessons  of  life  were  learned  in  the  street.  A  slice  of  bread 
and  butter  were  more  to  them  than  all  the  virtues,  the  exercise 
of  which  bestows  the  light  of  eternal  happiness.  Why,  from 
very  necessity,  they  believed  that  bad  was  good.  It  is  one  of 
the  awful  mysteries  of  the  times  how  they  were  allowed  to  grow 
up  in  ignorance  and  crime.  If  there  be  truth  in  the  newspaper 
columns,  humanity  is  in  sympathy  with  them  as  a  class  whom  it 
is  man's  duty  to  lift  from  the  dust.  Yet  who  dare  say  that  Miff 
and  Viola  were  not  fared  to  be  dead  to  the  knowledge  of  virtue, 
to  earn  the  condemnation  of  men  and  to  offend  the  goodness  of 
the  Supreme. 


THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER.  27 

A  smile  of  recognition — a  sad.  sorrowful  smile — passed  from 
Miff  to  Viola  as  they  met  in  the  afternoon  in  the  Police  Court. 
A  few  hoodlums  and  the  policeman  testified,  and  Miff  confessed 
his  crime  of  stealing,  and  Viola  was  too  inucti  frightened  to 
speak. 

"  Three  months  in  the  House  of  Correction,"  spoke  the  Police 
Court  Judge. 

Miff  and  Viola  were  hurried  away,  and  for  three  months  they 
disappear  from  really  active  life. 

The  next  case  called  was  that  of  a  man  for  beating  his  wife 
and  neglecting  his  children.  A  dozen  neighbors  testified  to  his 
cruel  neglect  of  an  idiotic  child  and  of  his  neglect  of  the  others. 
His  wife  was  put  on  the  stand,  bearing  the  marks  of  hard  blows. 
The  man  did  not  deny  that  he  beat  her.  The  neighbors  say 
cruelly:  blood  stains  were  on  the  floor.  No  aggravation  on  the 
wife  was  put  in  evidence.  A  clear  case  of  base  cruelty.  A  hea- 
vy fine  was  imposed,  oh  no — a  few  days  imprisonment  was  all. 
Compare  the  two  unequal  sentences  and  you  have  the  vulgar 
value  put  on  bread  and  pies,  and  the  value  of  human  flesh  in 
the  Police  Court  market. 

A  group  of  reformers,  mostly  women,  met  at  the  Children's 
Home  in  order  to  consider  the  various  reforms.  There  was  a  tall, 
angular  woman,  who  cared  not  for  helpless  children,  who,  like 
the  judge,  would  pass  an  unjust  sentence  on  incorrigible  chil- 
dren, but  at  the  same  time  be  lenient  with  the  parent  who  forces 
such  children  upon  the  State. 

Society  in  this  city  is  built  from  the  social  ruin  of  two  genera- 
tions. It  needs  a  revolution — a  declaration  of  independence  to 
be  free,  not  from  one,  but  from  a  thousand  shams.  Pretension 
and  sham,  sham  and  pretension,  and  intensified  shams,  are  the 
visible  mainstays  of  society.  You  hear  more  said  in  praise  of  an 
elegant  dancer  than  a  brilliant  conversationalist.  Mrs.  A.  De- 


20  THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

vine,  the  reformer  of  skirts,  is  more  widely  known  than  Dr.  Hal- 
stead,  the  indiscriminate  charity  man.  Yet,  the  Children's  Home 
was  built  by  the  latter's  money.  If  the  treasurer  of  any  benevo- 
lent association  found  out  that  he  gave  money  to  any  charity,  not 
through  a  committee,  he  was  censured  by  all. 

Mrs.  Devine  rose  first  among  the  reformers,  and  said:  "  The 
most  important  movement  of  this  age  is  the  advancement  of  social 
science.  Women  must  have  the  ballot,  and  must  reform  their 
dress,  habits  and  manners.  Men  do  not  sympathize  with  women 
in  this,  but  we  should  have  their  aid  and  support." 

"I  should  think,"  said  Dr.  Halstead,  "  that  it  is  more  impor- 
ant  for  men  to  sympathize  with  the  helpless  children — to  reform 
Barbary  Coast,  rather  than  Nob  Hill.  I  met,  but  a  day  or  two 
ago,  two  children  raised  among  the  saloons  and  dens  of  vice. 
They  were  an  incumbrance  to  society,  blots,  waifs,  and  will  fur- 
nish countless  themes  and  oceans  of  words  to  reformers.  To-day 
I  read  that  they  have  been  sentenced  to  the  House  of  Correction. 
Yesterday  I  met  a  homeless  girl  on  the  streets.  I  asked  a  police- 
man to  give  her  lodgings  in  the  jail  or  station  house  over  night. 
He  asked  me,  *  Is  she  a  bad  one.'  A  good  girl,  homeless,  friend- 
less and  hungry,  must  qualify  herself  by  crime  before  she  secures 
a  refuge  from  the  city.  Let  the  policeman  cry,  '  Move  on."  We 
must  give  the  unfortunates  work,  and  in  this  building  we  must 
organize  a  sewing  school/' 

Thus  it  was  with  Dr.  Halstead — ever  opposed  to  the  lip  phil- 
anthrophy  that  invariably  closes  the  pockets,  he  was  eminently 
practical,  and  indiscriminate  charity  did  not  worry  him.  If  he 
saw  a  hungry  boy  on  the  street,  he  did  not  wish  to  secure  a  com- 
mittee of  experts  to  examine  his  appetite,  but  his  hand  was  in  his 
pocket. 

Then  Mrs.  Benson  said:  "  I  was  passing  down  Market  street 
yesterday  afternoon.  Two  fashionable  young  men  passed  by  a 


THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER.  29 

poor  blind  boy,  who  stood  by  a  lamp  post  with  his  hand  appeal- 
ingly  held  forth.  One  of  the  young  men  struck  the  hand  a  blow 
with  his  cane.  The  other  laughed  at  the  joke  and  fright  of  the 
poor  boy.  Dr.  Halstead  came  up  a  moment  afterwards  and 
gave  the  poor  boy  money.  The  policeman,  noticing  the  adven- 
ture, bid  the  blind  boy  move  on.  The  young  men — or  rather, 
matured  brutes — were  smiled  on,  while  the  unfortunate  boy  felt 
his  way  cautiously  to  another  square.  I  claim,  that  after  all, 
Dr.  Halstead's  method  was  the  true  modus  operandi  of  charity. 
Reform  schools  have  a  purpose .  Free  kindergartens  for  home- 
less children  do  a  good  work.  The  Old  Indies'  Home  will  sup- 
ply a  long-felt  want.  The  Children's  Sewing  Society  has  its 
mission.  Reform  and  benevolence,  in  whatever  guise  it  works, 
benefits  humanity  and  uplifts  the  race;  for  it  does  not  only  en- 
hance the  happiness  of  the  recipient,  but  the  donor  as  well. 
Money  ypent  in  benevolent  purposes  may  always  be  put  to  the 
profit  side  of  the  account  on  our  books;  for  in  the  great  book  of 
reckoning  for  eternity,  every  dollar  spent  for  the  glory  of  the 
race  is  placed  to  a  man's  credit." 


CHAPTER  V. 

'•  I  am  persuaded  that  every  time  a  man  has  a  generous  impulse — but  much 
more  when  he  performs  a  generous  act — it  adds  something  .to  generations 
yet  to  come." 

While  the  band  of  earnest  workers  were  devising  plans  to  bene- 
fit the  poor,  a  jeering  crowd  had  assembled  in  Edna  Proctor's 
home — a  nice  name  for  a  Pacific  street  den. 

"  Well,  Eenwood,  where's  your  boy  ?" 

"  Gone." 

'  'Police  nab  him?" 

"  Yes;  up  for  three  months." 

"  Where's  that  gal  of  his  ? 

"  Police  got  her,  too.  She  is  keepiug  company  with  Miff,  as 
usual.  She  is  no  good,  always  getting  Miff  into  trouble." 

"  Your  boy  trained  her,  anyhow,"  said  Mrs.  Proctor. 

"  Precious  little  training  either  one  ever  got,"  suggested  John 
Martin. 

"  They're  better  than  yours,  ever  if  you  do  send  them  to  a 
charity  school." 

"  Better  send  them  to  a  charity  school  than  the  House  of  Cor- 
rection," retorted  Martin. 

"  Miff  can  take  care  of  himself.  He  will  make  just  as  good  a 
man  as  your  hypocritical  Sunday  School  children,"  Kenwood  re- 
plied. 

"  Well,  I  propose  to  let  my  gals  go  to  Sunday  School,  to  Dr. 
Halstead's  Reform  School,  and  wherever  they  please." 

"  Yes,  and  you  will  have  them  puttin'  on  airs,  gettin'  con- 
verted, preachin'  religion  and  takin'  away  your  liberties.  I'll 


THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER.  31 

bet  if  your  gals  go  to  Sunday  School  you  will  quit  coming  here 
within  a  month." 

"  It  would'nt  be  much  worse  for  me  if  I  staid  at  home." 

"  You  talk  like  a  weak-kneed  subject  for  emigrating  right  into 
a  church." 

"  It  would  be  better  for  us  all  if  we  quit  drinking  nnd  lived 
better." 

"  Oh  come,  give  us  a  regular  sermon,  won't  you"?  asked  Ken- 
wood. 

"  Take  a  drink  first,"  suggested  Mrs.  Proctor. 

The  foaming  beer  and  the  destructive  whiskey  made  them  for- 
get all  about  the  sermon.  Even  Martin  himself  became  noisy 
and  hilarious.  A  pale,  sickly  wife,  poorly  fed,  and  worse  clad 
children  were  forgotten.  The  revelry  began.  The  hoodlums 
passing  were  attracted  by  the  hilarity.  They  stopped,  entered 
and  were  contaminated  by  vile  companionship.  They  passed 
out  and  on  one  square,  perhaps  two — another  den,  another 
drink.  Vile  whisky  had  done  its  work.  Alcohol  in,  every  ling- 
ering fragment  of  good  out.  Before  midnight  they  were  in  a 
state  of  debauchery,  that  even  paternal  love  would  fall  and  con- 
geal at  the  sight .  A  little  girl  came  down  the  stairway  at  Proc- 
tor's saloon,  and  as  she  came  into  full  view  Kenwood  exclaimed: 

"  My  God!  how  like  her!     Whose  child  is  that  ?" 

"  Nobody's,  I  guess/'  was  Mrs.  Proctor's  retort. 

"  Come  here,  little  girl." 

The  child  timidly  approached  him. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?" 

"  Bona." 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?" 

"  She  lives  with  me,  if  you  want  to  know,"  said  Mrs.  Proctor. 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  need  be  so  snappy  about  the  girl." 


32  THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  need  be  inquiring  into  other  people's 
business,"  was  the  retort. 

"  Well,  the  child  looks  wonderfully  like  my  poor  dead  Janey." 

"  Kenwood,  what  became  of  that  little  daughter  that  my  wife 
kept  for  you?" 

"  The  charity  people  got  her,  and  I  never  heard  of  her  since." 

"  Do  you  remember  she  was  called  Bona.  An  odd  name — • 
perhaps  the  same  one." 

"  Woman,  where  did  you  get  this  child?"  demanded  Kenwood. 

"  She  came  here." 

"Where  from?" 

"  Ask  the  girl." 

"  Bona,  where  do  you  live  " 

"  Away  off,  at  a  place  ever  so  much  nicer  than  this.  Won't 
you  take  me  back  to  my  mamma,  please  ?" 

"  What  is  your  mamma's  name  ?" 

"  Other  people  call  her  Mrs,  Benson." 

"  The  very  same,"  exclaimed  Martin. 

"  I  am  your  father,  Bona."  But  years  had  separated  the  tie 
that  binds,  and  the  knowledge  carried  with  it  no  paternal  emo- 
tions. 

Bona  drew  from  him,  and  said:  "  No,  you're  not,  for  mamma 
told  me  I  had'nt  any  father." 

"  Now,  see  here,  Kenwood,  I  don't  care  whether  she  is  your 
child  or  not.  I  have  adopted  her,  and  she  stays  right  here  with 
me.  Bona,  go  upstairs  and  stay  there.  You  should  have  been 
asleep  long  ago." 

"  Well,  I  guess  not;  Bona  will  go  with  me  to-night." 

"  No,  she  won't." 

Mrs.  Proctor  went  over  to  where  they  were  and  led  Bona 
away.  Benwood  was  too  cowardly  to  interfere,  but  he  detained 
her  long  enough  to  imprint  a  kiss  upon  her  pure  lips.  As  she 


THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER.  33 

was  led  away,  he  arose  and  stole  quietly  from  the  room,  like  a 
man  with  a  guilty  conscience.  The  gentle  touch  of  the  child, 
Heaven's  direct  influence  on  wayward  men,  aroused  the  last  fad- 
ing, flickering  spark  of  manhood  within  him.  He  started  for 
his  home — a  room  eight  by  ten — in  a  lodging  house.  He  dreamed 
the  dream  of  youth.  Bad  habits,  whiskey  and  debauchery  rob 
a  man  of  the  gifts  of  life;  but  the  recollection  of  former  days  are 
the  heritage  of  man,  no  matter  what  condition  he  may  be  in.  It 
is  the  right  of  man  iii  the  hour  of  his  greatest  sorrow,  even  at 
the  point  where  he  ceases  to  be  a  man  and  becomes  a  brute,  for 
the  past  with  all  its  glorious  achievements  and  happiest  moments 
to  rise  up  before  him.  Jared  Kenwood  had  felt  the  inspiration 
of  youth;  had  tasted  the  joys  of  conscious  power.  The  realiza- 
sion  of  brilliant  hopes  stood"  but  a  little  distance  from  him.  In  a 
moment  of  temptation  he  threw  off  the  restraints  which  are 
placed  upon  every  man.  The  transformation  from  manhood  to 
mere  brute  existence  was  rapid  indeed.  The  touch  of  lips  to 
lips,  the  angel  touch  of  Bona,  as  her  hand,  so  small,  so  soft  and 
caressing,  rested  a  moment  on  his  bleared  and  sin-marked  face, 
aroused  within  him  the  thoughts  and  emotions  which  visit  the 
degenerate  only  at  rare  intervals.  Kenwood  promised  the  im- 
pulse to  lead  a  nobler  life.  He  remained  three  days,  and  then 
he  was  back  at  Proctor's  again,  drinking  and  carousing  worse 
than  ever.  A  youth  will,  a  young  man  may — an  old  man  hardly 
ever  does  reform. 

A  training  school  for  children,  a  reform  school  for  youths,  a 
house  of  correction  for  young  men,  a  penitentiary  for  men;  and 
these  institutions,  properly  conducted,  may  regulate  society;  but 
the  solution  to  the  great  social  problem  is  found  in  Bona's  reply 
to  Mrs.  Proctor. 

"  Here,  drink  this  beer." 

"  Mamma  taught  me  never  to  do  that." 

"  Drink,  I  say." 

3 


34  THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

"  No,  I  wont,  for  mamma  said  I  shouldn't  taste  anything  like 
that." 

"  Well,  well,  such  training;  they  will  soon  be  trying  to  make 
us  all  saints." 

The  teaching  of  love  had  more  power  than  the  influence  of 
fear,  and  Bona,  with  the  Christian  culture  of  ten  years,  stood 
out  firmly  against  the  woman's  demands.  Bona  had  been  in 
care  of  Mrs.  Proctor  several  months.  Dr.  Halstead  and  Mrs. 
Benson  had  tried  in  vain  to  find  her.  They  inquired  of  Mrs. 
Proctor  and  Kenwood,  but  they  consciously  lied  to  them.  Yet 
both  Dr.  Halstead  and  Mrs.  Benson  were  convinced  the  child 
was  in  their  possession,  but  they  had  no  way  to  get  possession  of 
her.  Oswald  Grayson  now  enters  the  story  again.  In  the  mean- 
time he  had  not  been  idle.  Many  useful  men  and  women  will 
remember  how  they  were  helped,  comforted  and  aided  by  his 
generous  acts.  When  asked  why  he  spent  his  time  among  the 
lower  classes  and  worked  differently  from  other  people — for  the 
world  knew  of  his  charity — he  responded:  "lam  persuaded 
that  every  time  a  man  has  a  generous  impulse — but  much  more 
when  he  performs  a  generous  act — it  adds  something  to  genera- 
tions yet  to  come .  Yes,  I  am  convinced  that  the  highest  degree 
of  personal  happiness  is  found  in  bestowing  happiness  upon 
others." 

One  day,  as  Grayson  was  passing  down  Pacific  street,  he  saw 
Bona  in  the  saloon,  and  entering,  learned,  by  stealth,  her  posi- 
tion. He  received  a  permit  for  the  girl,  and  an  official  order  to 
place  her  in  the  Home  of  the  Friendless.  The  institution  was 
presided  over  by  a  fat,  fussy  and  grumbling  woman,  whose  face 
wore  a  perpetual  scowl.  Perhaps  the  best  insight  into  the 
whole  institution  can  be  gained  from  Bona's  diary.  Mrs,  Benson 
taught  her  to  write  something  each  day — a  record  of  the  day's 
work.  How  well  she  performed  her  part  can  be  learned  from 
the  following: 


CHAPTER   VI. 

"Error  doos  n it  stop  where  it  bagias.  The  misdeed  of  youth  are  the 
crimes  of  maturer  years." 

"TUESDAY,  June  llth.  —There  are  lots  of  girls  and  boys  here.  They  are 
watched  by  ugly  women,  who  beat  and  scold  them.  At  meals  they  eat  with 
fingers,  and  always  eat  so  fast  they  can't  talk.  I. know  it  is  wrong  to  do 
that  way,  because  mamma  told  me  it  was.  Last  night  a  nice  little  girl  died — 
the  one  that  the  ugly  woman  whipped  yesterday.  I  think  the  people  are 
cruel.  I  wish  they  would  speak  kindly,  instead  of  harsh  and  cruel.  Mrs. 
Lamor  orders  us  around  just  like  our  old  coal  man  did  his  horse.  When  Mr. 
Grayson  comes,  I  am  going  to  coax  him  to  take  me  away.  I  know  that  he 
will  find  mamma.  I  hear  a  lot  of  boys  and  girls  being  whipped  in  the  hall. 
I  wish  they  would  not  cry  so.  I  am  going  to  run  away  from  this  horrid 
place.  That's  all  for  to-day.  BONA." 

The  leaves  of  her  diary  were  stained  with  tears.  Bona's 
running  comment  each  day  was  something  like  the  pre- 
ceding— the  wail  of  woe,  the  consciousness  of  poverty,  and  the 
complete  lack  of  sympathy.  Better  for  the  helpless  poor  to  die 
upon  the  cold  and  cheerless  street;  to  lift  their  hands  in  mute 
appeal  to  Heaven,  and  receive  naught  else  in  return  but  the  rain 
or  the  morning  dew,  than  to  die  unloved  and  a  burden  to  the 
miscalled  charitable  institutions  of  this  city.  The  cry  of  the  chil- 
dren re-echoes  from  Heaven  in  the  ears  of  God's  people.  They 
heed  it  not,  unless  perchance  the  echo  resounds  in  the  heart  of 
some  sympathetic  woman,  who  labors  patiently  and  earnestly  for 
the  good  of  neglected  youths.  The  rich — those  who  have  by 
successful  speculation  reached  the  sphere  of  luxury — will  pay 
hundreds  of  dollars  for  a  mere  luxury,  and  a  dollar  or  two  is  all 
that  they  give,  and  that  grudgingly,  to  the  deserving  poor.  The 
wheels  of  Juggernaut  should  crush  out  of  existence  every  parsi- 
monious heart.  Human  nature  once  touched  with  the  fair  caress 
of  charity  is  warm  and  tender,  but  oh,  the  cold  exterior  which 


36  THE    STKEET   AND    THE    FLOWER. 

bars  the  approach  of  a  generous. impulse.  A  man  may  commit 
suicide  and  yet  live.  He  crushes  out  of  existence  every  frag- 
ment of  happiness,  when  he  strangles  the  promptings  of  a  gen- 
erous heart.  While  one  stops  to  moralize,  the  world  moves  on. 
The  rich  change  places  with  the  poor;  the  child  becomes  a  man, 
and  the  man  returns  to  the  dust.  The  street  waif  has  become 
calloused  by  repeated  crimes,  and  the  good  have  grown  nobler 
by  their  self-sacrifice. 

******** 
Five  years  have  passed — five  long  years — since  Miff  and  Viola 
were  sentenced  to  the  House  of  Correction.     They  still   follow 
their  old  way  of   living.     Error  does  not  stop  where  it  begins. 
The  misdeeds  of  youth  are  the  crime  of  maturer  years. 

One  morning  when  the  fog  made  the  city  almost  dark,  the  re- 
gion of  the  Barbary  Coast  was  cheerless  and  drear.  The  inhabi- 
tants seldom  retired  before  the  town  clock  had  struck  two,  hence 
it  was  late  in  the  day  before  they  arose.  A  solitary  figure  half- 
walked,  half-sneaked  along  Pacific  street.  Her  old  dress,  faded, 
tattered  and  torn,  hung  upon  her  ill-shaped  form.  Her  beauty 
was  marred  by  strong  lines  of  dissipation,  her  eyes  lined  with 
dark  rings,  and  the  sparkle  removed  by  the  presence  of  blood. 
Her  walk  was  a  swagger,  her  looks  revealed  the  sadness  of  her 
heart,  and  her  whole  existence  seemed  to  be  within  the  circle  of 
shameful  dissipation.  On  up  the  street  until  the  jail  is  reached; 
then  boldly  going  up  to  the  guard,  she  asked: 

"  Is  Miff  here?" 

She  knew  no  other  name  for  him,  and  no  other  name  is  needed, 
because  the  good  and  the  bad  alike  know  a  notorious  character 
by  his  first  name. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  him?"  was  the  guard's  reply. 

An  old  woman  passing  by  tapped  Viola  on  the  chin.  "  Well, 
my  beauiy,  corne  after  your  lover,  didyer?  Better  look  up  an- 


THE    STREET    AND    THE   FLOWEB.  37 

other.  They  are  no  good  once  in  there."  And  she  pointed  her 
long,  bony  finger  towards  the  dingy  calls. 

Viola  drew  back  from  the  woman's  presence.  Soon  a  released 
prisoner  came  out,  but  it  was  not  Miff. 

"  Hello,"  he  said.  And  leered  at  her,  while  she  drew  further 
back. 

At  last,  unable  to  bear  the  scrutiny  of  the  crowd,  she  went  in 
the  corner,  and  stood  obscured  by  the  open  door.  As  each  one 
passed,  she  looked  for  Miff.  "While  watching,  Oswald  Grayson 
passed  in.  She  stepped  from  the  corner,  and  touched  him  on 
the  sleeve.  He  turned. 

"  Why,  is  this  you,  Viola  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Miff  is  in  there.     Won't  you  get  him  out  for  me  ?  " 

<c  I  once  said  that  if  you  were  ever  in  trouble,  I  would  help 
you.  It  has  been  nearly  two  years  since  I  saw  you.  You  and 
Miff  are  still  together  ?  "Well,  well,  ever  since  you  were  cherubs 
in  the  cellar  at  the  old  house,  I  have  watched  you,  but  my  efforts 
to  reform  you  have  all  been  in  vain.  I  am  afraid  Heaven  will 
have  to  make  special  arrangements  for  such  as  you." 

"  Don't  talk  that  way.  I  want  Miff.  We  are  not  bad.  Miff 
is  real  good.  He  never  hurts  any  one,  but  we  must'  get  a  living 
somehow." 

€f  There  comes  Miff."  And  in  a  minute  Viola  was  by  his  side 
and  nodding  to  Grayson.  They  passed  on  through  the  corridors 
and  out.  Miff  had  just  completed  a  six  months'  sentence  in  jail. 

"  Come,  let  us  go  to  our  den,"  said  Miff,  gruffly;  "  I  am 
anxious  to  see  how  it  looks  after  six  months'  absence.  Do  you 
know,  Viola,  I  missed  you  every  day  ?  " 

In  turn  for  such  a  wonderful  exhibition  of  tenderness  on  the 
part  of  Miff,  Viola  gently  pressed  his  hand  and  raised  her  eyes 
to  his.  Long  since  they  had  ceased  to  kiss  each  other.  Such  a 
token  of  affection  belongs  strictly  to  the  pure.  Now  and  then 


38  THE    STREET    AND    1HE    FLOWER. 

they  did  not  forget  the  sympathy  aroused  by  the  touch  of  trem- 
bling lips,  but  it  was  not  an  every  day  occurrence,  as  it  is  where 
love  and  refinement  exist. 

As  they  went  up  the  stairway,  Miff's  heart  seemed  to  awaken 
to  new  life.  As  they  stood  side  by  side  in  the  doorway,  Miff 
stooped  and  celebrated  his  return  by  a  kiss  that  almost  shamed 
the  untidy  and  unladylike  appearance  of  Viola.  In  return 
Viola  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  said:  "I  am  awful 
glad  to  have  yer  back  again.  We  won't  let  the  police  ketch  ycu 
another  time." 

"  Were  you  lonesome  when  I  was  away  ?  " 
"  I  was  so  miserable  that  I  had  a  notion  to  throw  myself  in 
the  bay." 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  we  are  together  again.     Say,  have  you   got 
anything  good  to  eat  or  drink?" 
"  Here's  your  favorite  whisky." 

"  Let  us  go  and  have  some  lunch  somewhere.    Well,  you  still 
have  those  violets.     Why  do  you  keep  them  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.     For  years  and  years  I  loved  them;  and  do 
you  know  that  whenever  I  am  real  hungry  I  dream  about  such  a 
beautiful  place,  all  covered  with  flowers,  just  like  the  place  that 
we  heard  about  the  day  we  went  to  the  Children's  Hall  ?" 
"  That  was  a  long  time  ago." 
"  Yes;   but  we  were  happier  then  than  now." 
"  WTe  will  be  happy  again.    Just  wait;  I  will  make  a  big  strike 
one  of  these  days." 

"Even  if  you  do,  it  will  be  all  the  same.     We  live,  eat  and 
drink.     I  don't  know  what  we  live  for,  if  we  must  always  be  this 
way.     I  wish  I  had  drowned  myself,  I  am  so  tired  of  life." 
"  You  must  not  talk  that  way — I  am  back  again." 
"  Yes,  I  know;   but  what  of  that?     Must  we  not  go  on  as  ever 
before?     There  is  nothing  to  do  but  prowl  round  the  streets,  and 


THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER.  39 

take  whatever  we  can  put  our  fingers  on.  It's  drink,  and  sleep, 
and  steal;  that's  all  of  livin'.  When  I  saw  poor,  crippled  Jen- 
nie dead,  and  her  white  face  turned  toward  the  sky,  I  thought 
she  must  be  awful  happy,  to  look  so  peaceful.  Nobody  cares  for 
us,  and  I  am  tired  of  being  himmered  about.  If  it  wasn't  for 
you,  I  would  die." 

"  Take  some  of  this,  and  then  we  will  go  on  a  visit  to  the  old 
places  again." 

He  handed  her  the  jug  of  whisky.  She  drank  deeply.  A  false 
and  artificial  life  was  infused  into  her  veins.  She  was  stirred  to 
action.  Thoughts  of  death  were  far  removed.  Her  contempla- 
tion began  and  ended  within  the  limits  of  the  present.  The 
past  and  the  future  were  as  dimly  outlined  as  the  horizon  on 
a  misty  morning.  She  was  herself  again,  and,  being  so,  she 
was  certainly  not  an  attractive  character. 

Viola  hastily  pushed  the  chair  into  a  corner,  picked  up  a  few 
kuicknacks,  closed  the  outer  door,  and,  taking  Miff's  arm,  pulled 
him  towards  the  stairway.  As  they  entered  upon  the  street, 
walking  side  by  side,  she  was  as  proud  as  a  queen,  and  no 
sweetheart  was  ever  as  proud  of  her  lover  as  Viola  was  of  Miff, 
as  he  made  his  first  appearance  siuce  he  had  been  in  jail.  It 
was  rumored,  and  no  doubt  the  rumor  was  true,  that  Miff 
served  the  sentence  that  Viola  should  in  justice  have  received. 
The  night  was  dark,  and  it  was  an  unfrequented  part  of  the 
city.  -  An  old  dress  was  stolen.  It  was  discovered  in  Viola's 
room.  Miff  acknowledged  the  theft  and  suffered  the  penalty. 
Whether  Miff  or  Viola  stole  the  dress  is  not  known. 

"  There's  that  pretty  girl  that  brought  me  nice  flowers,  and 
was  so  kind  to  me,"  said  Miff.  He  made  an  awkward  attempt 
to  bow,  and  the  lady  smiled  graciously. 

"My!  bul  ain't  she  a  proud  thing,"  exclaimed  Viol.i. 

"Why,  no;  she  ain't  proud,  or  she  wouldn't  have  come  to 
the  jail  with  flowers,  and  treated  me  so  nicely." 


40  THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

"  People  pay  her  for  doing  that." 

"No,  they  don't." 

"Well,  that  old  preacher  on  the  corner  used  to  say  that  it 
paid  to  be  good." 

Miff  gave  rather  an  irreverent  laugh,  as  he  said:  "  I  have 
often  heard  about  rewards  for  the  good,  but  did  not  know  that 
they  got  any  coin." 

They  were  on  the  lookout  for  something  to  eat.  They  had  no 
money.  Viola  had  held  fast  to  her  empty  pouch.  They  passed 
Edna  Proctor's  place,  when  they  heard  a  cry  of  sudden  pain 
within.  They  entered.  Kenwood  was  lying  upon  his  face;  the 
blood  was  oozing  from  a  wound  in  the  back.  Miff,  hastily  turn- 
ing him  over,  saw  the  pale,  deathly  face  of  his  father. 

"  I  am  dying;   she  did  it,"    he  gasped,  and  died. 

A  crowd  gathered  in  the  saloon.  A  doctor  arrived.  The  cut 
was  a  terrible  one;;  the  rib  was  severed  as  though  a  surgeon  had 
performed  the  operation.  The  knife  lay  upon  the  floor,  reeking 
with  blood. 

Edna  Proctor  gave  her  testimony  to  the  people  as  follows:  "  I 
was  in  the  back  room,  and  I  heard  Kenwood  quarreling  with 
some  Chinamen  about  some  money.  Kenwood  could  talk  the 
Chinese  language  some,  and  of  course  I  could  not  tell  what  they 
were  quarreling  about;  but  as  I  came  to  the  door  one  of  the 
Chinamen  drew  his  knife  and  stabbed  him  in  the  back.  Then 
they  all  ran  off." 

The  woman's  story  was  listened  to  attentively.  The  police- 
man began  a  search  for  some  evidence  of  Chinese  presence. 
They  picked  up  the  knife;  it  had  a  long  blade,  sharp  on  both 
sides  and  tapered  to  a  round  point — a  deadly  weapon  in  the 
hands  of  the  assassin.  It  was  undoubtedly  a  Chinese  knife. 

Miff  looked  upon  the  face  of  his  murdered  father  unmoved; 
Viola  stood  trembling  by  his  side. 


THE    STREET   AND    THE    FLOWER.  41 

"  Don't  tell,  will  you?" 

"  Yes;   your  mother  killed  the  old  man." 

"If  you  tell,  they  will  put  her  in  jail — perhaps  hang  her  like 
they  did  Mrs.  Rankin  when  she  killed  her  man.  If  you  tell,  I'll 
throw  myself  into  the  bay." 

"  What  business  had  she  to  stab  him,  anyway." 

"  They  quarreled;  you  know  you  hit  me  once  when  you  were 
mad." 

"  I'm  going  to  tell,  anyway." 

"  If  you  do,  I'll  murder  you." 

*  A  fierce  light  came  into  her  eye.  She  clutched  his  arm.  Her 
fingers  tightened  with  a  vise-like  grip,  and  the  nails  were  imbed- 
ded in  the  calloused  skin.  "With  her  right  hand  she  drew  a 
knife;  it  flashed  as  she  drew  it  back. 

Miff  touched  her  arm  and  said:  "  Well,  if  you  care  for  the  old 
woman  so  much  as  that,  I  will  keep  mum." 

They  came  from  the  side  room.  The  Coroner  had  arrived- 
the  verdict  was  given:  "  Came  to  his  death  by  the  stab  of  a 
knife  in  the  hands  of  an  unknown  Chinaman." 

All  that  was  mortal  of  Jared  Kenwood  was  borne  from  the  sa- 
loon. A  life  of  degradation  met  its  legitimate  end;  the  hand  of 
the  ruffian  had  struck  the  blow.  For  twenty  years  Jared  Ben- 
wood  had  lived  on  the  Barbary  Coast.  His  being  was  dead  long 
ago  to  the  finer  sensibilities  that  govern  humanity.  His  rough 
habits  and  dissipated  manner  of  living  killed  a  gentle  creature, 
his  wife,  ruined  his  son  Miff,  and  eternally  damned  himself.  No 
monument  points  heavenward  over  his  grave;  his  deeds  are  cele- 
brated by  the  wickedness  of  his  son  Miff.  A  proper  epitaph  over 
such  a  grave  would  be:  "  He  lived  a  disgrace  to  humanity,  and 
his  end  was  like  unto  his  life.  God  pity  such." 

A  policeman  watched  closely  the  saloon  of  Edna  Proctor.  Two 
Chinamen  passed  on  the  other  side  of  the  street;  they  were  no- 


42  THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER. 

torious  highbinders.  "That's  them,  quick!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Proctor. 

The  policeman  followed  the  Chinamen  to  the  corner,  and  just 
as  they  turned  down  Sansome  street  he  blew  his  whistle,  and, 
exhibiting  his  club,  arrested  them. 

"  Me  no  steaieo,  me  no  killee,  me  no  anything." 


CHAPTER   VII. 

•'  If  the  original  state  of  woman  is  represented   by  the  lowest  element  of 
society,  it  would  bs  better  for  humanity  had  Adam  never  lost  a  rib." 

The  prompt,  inconsiderate  denial  of  a  charge  is  a  half  confes- 
sion.     The  thief   cries  out  aloud,   "  I  took  it  not."     The  mur- 
derer  declares,    "  I   did   not    kill    him."       The    child    before 
condemned  will  plead  "  not  guilty."      The  nature  of   man  is 
but  the  exemplification  of  the  weaknesses  of  childhood.     The 
terrible  charge  of   murder  was  placed  against  the  two  China- 
men.    They  denied  it  so  strenuously  that  the   authorities  were 
convinced  of  their  guilt.     On  the  preliminary   examination  a 
true  bill  was  found,  and  they  were  consigned   to  the  dingiest 
and  most  criminal  cell  in  the  prison.     A  Chinaman,  whether 
innocent  or  guilt}*,  deserves  no  better  fate.     Do  you  suppose 
they  feel?      Would  an  insinuation  bare  and   cruel   touch   the 
sensibilities  beneath  their  yellow  skin?     Are  they  not  dead    to 
pain  ?     Do  the}'  laugh,  smile  or  cry  ?     Would  a  slap,  a  blow  or 
a  beating  injure  their  hardened  natures  ?     If  you  meet  a  China- 
man, spit  at  him,  or  trip  him  up  and  see  him  fall  on  his  face. 
If  you  want  exercise,  throw  sticks  and  stones  at  him;  he  will  be 
amused  thereby.    The  Chinese  are  a  queer  race.     If  in  a  foreign 
country  an  unfriendly  hand  is  laid  upon  an  American  shoulder, 
the  whole  American  nation  declares  that  its  citizens  must  be 
protected.     A  low  woman  who  stands  behind  the  bar  of  a  grog- 
gery,  who  neither  recognizes  the  responsibilities  of   her  being 
nor  of  an   oath— to  her   a  lie  is  smart,  a  truth  stupid,  a  crime 
shrewd,  a  noble  deed  but  the  exhibition  df  weakness — the  testi- 
mony of  such  a  woman  placed  the  two  Chinamen  in  jail,  where 
for  weeks  they  existed,  like  entrapped  animals. 


44  THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER. 

E,dna  Proctor  felt  that  she  was  free.  Little  did  she  dream 
that  her  daughter  and  Miff  possessed  the  secret  of  her  terrible 
crime.  But  she  was  not  permitted  to  rest  in  her  fancied  secur- 
ity long,  for  one  morning  Miff  entered  the  room,  and,  approach- 
ing the  counter,  spoke  in  a  commanding  voice: 

"  Give  me  some  money,  old  woman! " 

"  Indeed,  you  had  better  get  out/'  replied  Mrs.  Proctor. 

"  I  want  five  dollars." 

"  I  won't  give  you  five  cents." 

"  If  you  don't  give  me  the  money,  I  will  tell  who  killed  my 
father."  And  the  words  fairly  hissed  through  his  lips. 

"  What!"  And  over  the  dissipated  face  came  the  paleness  of 
great  and  heart-rending  fear. 

"  I  know  all.     If  you  give  me  the  money,  I'll  be  silent." 

Mrs.  Proctor  opened  the  drawer,  and  placed  upon  the  box 
the  money.  Miff  picked  up  the  large  silver  dollars,  counting: 
"  One,  two,  three,  four,  five — right,  old  woman.  When  I  want 
money  again,  you  must  be  quicker,  or  I'll  let  out  on  you." 

"You  had  better  not  come  here  again  for  money,  because 
you'll  not  get  any  more." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure.  This  will  go  for  the  support  of  your 
daughter.  I  will  want  some  for  myself  after  awhile." 

Just  as  Miff  stepped  out,  Oswald  Grayson  appeared  at  the 
door. 

"  Hello,  young  man.  How  are  you  getting  on?"  And  he 
took  Miff's  hand  in  his  and  gave  it  a  welcome  shake. 

They  re-entered  the  saloon.  Mr.  Grayson  bid  Mrs.  Proctor 
a  pleasant  good  morning,  and  askgd  leave  t'o  place  some  read- 
ing matter  on  her  tables.  She  gave  him  the  permission,  but  he 
had  no  sooner  gone  away  than  she  gathered  up  the  papers  and 
put  them  into  the  stove.  Good  literature  is  the  strongest  influ- 
ence the  disseminators  of  vice  have  to  contend  against. 


THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER.  45 

"  Miff,  do  you  know  that  we  would  all  be  better  men  if    there 
were  no  such  women  as  that?" 

'•'  I  am  sure  she  hasn't  done  me  any  good." 

"Twenty  years  ago  your  father  was  a  good,  hard-working 
man,  loved  by  the  noblest  woman  on  earth,  and  I  loved  that 
woman  there.  Your  mother  was  one  of  the  best  "women  that 
ever  lived,  and  was  so  kind  to  your  father.  But  an  evil  day 
came,  and  he  was  ruined  by  bad  men  and  women.  Your 
mother  died  partly  of  a  broken  heart,  and  your  father  took  up 
with  Mrs.  Proctor,  and  in  her  den  was  killed.  Miff,  you  are 
going  the  same  way.  Unless  you  face  about,  you  will  end  your 
days  either  in  prison,  on  the  gallows  or  in  a  saloon  brawl. 
Learn  a  lesson  from  the  sad  death  of  your  father.  There  is  a 
whole  volume  of  instruction  in  it  for  you,  you  know — "  But 
Miff  could  not  stand  any  more.  The  sentence  was  finished 
mentally.  He  left  Grayson  very  suddenly,  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments was  in  a  saloon,  drowning  the  thoughts  to  which  Gray- 
son's  words  gave  rise  by  the  vilest  of  vile  whisky.  Grayson 
walked  on  down  Pacific  street  on  his  mission  of  good,  distrib- 
uting here  and  there  his  papers.  The  flippant  man  will  laugh 
at  the  benefactor,  and  in  his  self-wisdom  will  knowingly  talk  of 
wasted  energies  in  the  furtherance  of  good,  yet  Sunday,  when 
Miff  and  Viola  were  in  their  room  together,  they  planned  a  trip 
to  the  wharf  where  Miff  had  noticed  a  box,  which  they  could 
open  with  a  hatchet  and  take  its  contents.  The  plan  was  ma- 
tured, when  Miff  drew  one  of  Grayson's  tracts,  and  read  the 
words,  "Thou  shalt  not  steal."  That  night  they  wandered 
around  to  the  Children's  Home,  and  entered.  They  listened  to 
the  songs;  they  heard  a  prayer,  and  the  words  of  the  speaker 
fell  with  power  upon  their  untrained  minds.  It  was  a  novelty 
to  them.  They  left  strongly  impressed,  and  returned,  instead 
of  to  a  saloon,  to  spend  the  night  in  ribaldry  and  dissipation,  to 


46  TLE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

their  rooms.  It  seemed  the  good  people  of  the  city  had  cast 
their  nets,  and  they  were  caught  at  every  turn.  The  fishers  of 
men,  if  the  prosecutors  labored  as  faithfully  as  the  Chinese 
fishermen  on  this  coast,  would  fill  their  nets  from  the  stagnant 
sloughs  of  society. 

"I  say,  Viola,  let  us  get  married?"  said  Miff,  abruptly,  as 
they  reached  their  room. 

"How?" 

tc  Why,  let  us  go,  like  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jarvis,  to  the  Justice, 
and  get  married  by  law.  Then  we  could  live  legally  together." 

"Does  getting  married  make  us  quarrel  like  such  people? 
You  be  my  husband,  and  I  be  your  wife.  Mam  hod  a  husband 
once,  and  he  beat  her  awfully.  No;  I  don't  want  any  husband. 
You  are  good  enough  for  me." 

"  Yes;  but  you  know  it  is  a  sin,  and  they  could  put  us  in  jail 
for  being  this  way." 

"'  Why,  we  lived  this  way  ever  since  I  can  remember,  and  no- 
body ever  said  anything." 

"  Yes;  but  we  are  getting  older  now,  and  indeed  it  is  wicked. 
That  beautiful  girl  who  came  to  me  in  jail  said  we  ought  to 
marry." 

"  I  don't  like  her.  I  don't  see  why  you  are  always  calling 
her  pretty — she  ain't." 

"  She  was  awful  good  to  me.  When  she  touched  my  hand  I 
felt  queer.  She  said  she  would  be  a  sister  to  me,  if  I  would 
work  and  quit  stealing.  Every  time  I  meet  her — why,  do  you 
know? — she  looks  like  my  mother.  I  know  now — I  used  to 
think  I  knew  some  one  who  looked  like  her.  I  remember  now, 
mother — my  mother.  It  was  so  long,  long  ago — long  before  I 
remember  you — that  she  died.  That  beautiful  girl  is  just  like 
her." 

There  was  a  bond  of   sympathy  between  Bona  and  Miff  that 


THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER.  47 

those  unacquainted  with  their  history  could  not  understand. 
Viola  was  jealous,  bitterly  jealous;  for  years  and  years  Miff  had 
praised  only  her.  Now,  he  talked  of  the  beauty  of  Bona;  here- 
tofore he  was  in  sympathy  only  with  Viola.  All  the  world  to 
him  was  cold,  formal,  disheartening;  everybody  was  against 
him,  and  he  was  against  everybody.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  be- 
tween Miff  and  Viola  there  should  be  an  intense  love  ? 

"Come,  Miff,  let  us  go  to  the  theater  to-night?"  said  Viola, 
after  a  successful  day  of  plundering. 

"  We  are  not  fit  to  go  to  a  nice  theater." 

"  Yes;  we  are,  if  we  buy  our  seats." 

"  I  am  afraid  they  will  put  us  out,  unless  we  go  to  the  gal- 
lery; and  if  we  go  up  there,  the  boys  will  laugh  at  us,  and  you 
don't  want  to  be  laughed  at." 

"  I  don't  care  for  once,  and  I  do  want  to  see  a  real  big  theater 
and  see  the  things  that  are  in  the  pictures  on  the  fence. " 

"  Well,  we  will  go  to-night,  then;  but  if  any  of  the  fellows 
make  fun  of  us,  I'll  fight." 

They  stood  at  the  entrance,  and  saw  the  fashionably  dressed 
people  enter.  The  young  men  and  sweethearts,  and  old  men 
and  maidens,  sons,  mothers,  wives  and  fathers,  daughters  and 
children,  all  entered,  happy  in  their  companionship,  happy  in 
anticipation  of  the  famous  actors'  interpretation  of  one  of 
Shakspeare's  greatest  dramas. 

"Wouldn't  I  like  to  be  dressed  as  them  folks! " 

"  Come,"  said  Miff,  "  let  us  go  in." 

They  went  up  the  narrow  stairway  to  the  gallery,  and  crowd- 
ed in  among  the  hoodlums  gathered  there.  Viola  gazed  in 
admiration  upon  the  adornments  of  the  theater,  She  had 
vf sited  variety  shows,  music  halls  and  low  places  of  amusement, 
but  she  had  never  been  in  a  grand  theater  before.  Everything 
was  new  to  her.  The  curtain  was  rung  up;  the  play  began. 


48  THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER. 

Soon  a  beautiful  girl  came  on  the  stage;  words  of  love  were 
spoken;  a  betrothal  ring  was  placed  upon  her  finger;  a  kiss,  a 
promise,  a  pledge;  and  then  the  acts  in  the  drama  came  on. 
At  last  the  beautiful  girl,  dressed  like  a  boy,  came  upon  the 
stage  searching  for  her  lover.  At  almost  every  turn  applause 
greeted  her;  all  eyes  watched  the  grace  and  ease  of  her  every 
movement.  They  listened  breathlessly  to  the  sweet  cadences  of 
her  voice.  The  turn  of  her  beautiful  eyes,  the  twitch  of  her 
fingers,  the  expression  of  her  face  were  observed — yes,  the  gaze 
of  the  audience  was  fixed  upon  the  beautiful  actress.  No  one 
cared  for  the  King  Cyrnbeline. 

"  But  don't  I  wish  I  was  her,"  whispered  Viola. 

"  Keep  quiet,"  replied  Miff. 

"Look  at  her  now;  there  she  comes  down  the  mountain. 
Can't  she  hollow  nicely,  though  ?  ' 

"  Keep  quiet,"  said  Miff. 

"  I  am  going  to  be  an  actress.  Oh,  but  wouldn't  I  like  to 
have  people  look  at  me  that  way!  " 

"  Keep  quiet,"  said  Miff. 

"  Isn't  that  grand,  though  ?  " 

"There  is  Eona." 

"Where?" 

"  Away  down  there,  aside  a  young  man,  near  that  corner." 

"It's  queer  how  you  see  her  everyplace.  You'll  soon  be 
leaving  me  and  running  after  her." 

The  curtain  was  rung  down.  Viola  had  seen  and  heard,  and 
she  had  an  ardent  desire  to  be  an  actress — a  great  actress.  The 
play  aroused  her  to  new  life. 

"  Miff,  I  am  going  to  quit  stealing.  I  am  going  to  go  on  the 
stage,"  said  Viola,  as  they  reached  their  room. 

"  You're  too  old,  and  you  don't  know  anything.  You  can't 
be  an  actress.  Why,  I  don't  know  enough  myself  to  do  like 


THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER.  49 

they  did  on  the  stage  to-night.     They're  great  people.     I  guess 
we  had  better  keep  on  stealing." 

They  did  keep  on  plotting  and  planning.  Even  the  theater 
taught  the  two  something.  They  were  inspired  by  the  play; 
they  were  invited  to  live  a  higher  and  nobler  life.  After  all, 
Shakspeare  did  not  write  in  vain,  and  our  magnificent  theaters 
were  not  built  to  retard  the  progress  of  the  race.  The  ignorant 
are  even  entertained  by  that  which  delights  the  highly  educated. 
There  is  not  much  difference  between  the  learned  and  the  un- 
learned. That  which  divides  the  classes  is  not  an  impassable 
barrier;  it  is  simply  a  mere  circumstance  that  rises  up  between 
the  two,  and  can  be  removed  at  will.  True,  the  will  is  some- 
times wanting,  but  it  can  be  attained. 

"  Stay  here,  Viola,  until  I  go  out  and  get  some  more  money. 
Do  you  know  I  have  a  real  mine  up  the  street  ?  Whenever  I 
say  '  G-old  '  silver  appears.  I  found  the  mine  about  two  weeks 
ago." 

"  Mayn't  I  go  long  and  see  it? " 

"  No;  you  would  spoil  it  all.     I  must  be  alone." 

Miff  started,  and  in  a  few  moments  was  in  the  presence  of 
Mrs.  Proctor. 

"  I  want  some  more  money,  old  woman." 

"  You  get  out  of  this." 

"  Well,  I  guess  I'll  go  and  see  how  much  the  police  will  give 
me  if  I  tell  the  whole  story.  Must  have  five  dollars.'7 

"  If  I  give  you  that,  will  you  promise  not  to  bother  me  any 
more  ?" 

•'Yes." 

"Here,  take  it  and  go,  and  if  you  come  back,  I'll  use  you 
worse  than  I  did  your  drunken  father.  Mind,  now,  what  1  say; 
you  keep  yourself  scarce — do  you  hear?"  And  she  drew  from  a 
hidden  pocket  a  dangerous  looking  knife. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"A  sympathetic  cord  runs  from  a  generous  heart  to  the  pocket,  and  no 
man  has  a  patent  on  nobility  until  he  can  truthfully  say,  •  I  give  cheerfully.'  " 

Who  can  explain  the  affinity  of  souls  ?  A  strange,  peculiar 
feeling  came  over  Miff  every  time  he  met  Bona.  He  wept  over 
the  sensation;  the  hard  nature  was  touched;  upon  his  eyelids 
glistened  not  one  tear,  as  he  beheld  the  corpse  of  his  murdered 
father,  yet  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks,  and  sweat  stood  upon 
his  forehead  like  the  oozing  sap  from  a  bruised  reed,  as  he  real- 
ized the  unbridgeable  gulf  between  Bona  and  himself.  Strange, 
yet  nevertheless  true,  he  worshiped  her  purity,  and  turned  away 
in  disgust  from  Viola,  who,  like  fruit  ripened  in  the  shade,  be- 
came bitter.  Oh,  ye  generations  of  men!  oh,  of  vipers!  why  will 
you  make  impure,  and  then  turn  in  disgust  and  worship  purity  ? 

Miff's  whole  nature  thrilled  with  passionate  love  for  Bona,  and 
he  wept  at  the  folly  of  his  passion.  He  could  not  steal,  he  hated 
whisky,  shunned  the  company  of  his  former  associates,  neglected 
Viola,  and  despised  his  unwashed  hands  and  unkempt  hair;  he 
tore  his  ragged  pants,  and  gazed  with  heart-bursting  envy  upon 
the  well-dressed  men. 

"  If  I  could  be  better,  I  would,"  he  declared  to  himself  again 
and  again.  Then  he  thought  it  was  no  use,  and  caressed,  with 
more  tenderness  than  ever  before,  the  almost  heart-broken  Viola. 

"Oh,  Miff,  if  you  follow  that  girl,  the  bay  is  waiting  for  me. 
Til  never,  never  leave  you  go,"  passionately  responded  Viola. 

"I  like  you,  Viola,  better  than  I  do  her;  but  it  seems  as 
though  I  must  touch  her  hand,  or  kiss  her  forehead,"  said  Miff, 
as  he  gently  impressed  a  kiss  on  Viola's  brow. 

But,  alas,  the  demon  of  despondency  crept  over  Miff,  the  fore- 


THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER.  51 

runner  of  crime  and  suicide.  He  refused  to  steal  or  to  beg;  they 
both  went  hungry,  sometimes  for  days,  for  weeks.  Miff  grew 
pale,  emaciated.  One  night  he  did  not  return  home.  Viola 
watched;  he  had  promised  to  bring  her  some  food;  she  was 
afraid  to  go  out  and  steal.  She  watched  the  tallow  dip  burn 
until  the  flickering  wick  refused  to  give  forth  light.  She  waited, 
oh,  so  wearily,  but  he  did  not  come.  At  last  her  head  fell  heav- 
ily towards  her  breast;  she  slept.  She  dreamed  Miff  was  being 
led  away  to  jail;  he  had  robbed  a  man,  struck  him  a  blow,  and 
left  him  lying  bleeding  on  the  street.  She  rushed  after  the  men, 
begged  them  not  to  take  him  to  prison,  pleaded  with  them,  and, 
growing  desperate,  fought,  and  in  her  dream  she  seemed  to  suc- 
ceed. A  gleam  of  triumph  overspread  her  face;  she  smiled  in 
her  sleep — a  wicked  smile  of  triumph — as  she  dragged  Miff  away 
from  the  police.  Every  step  she  seemed  to  fall;  while  running 
at  full  speed,  she  did  not  seem  to  get  away.  Great  fear  came 
over  her;  she  felt  the  heavy  club  of  the  policeman  upon  her 
head;  she  saw  the  blood  running  upon  the  ground.  "  I'm  dying, 
I  am  dying,"  she  muttered  audibly;  then  awoke  to  fully  realize 
her  loneliness. 

She  put  on  her  old  bonnet,  and  started  out  upon  the  deserted 
streets  to  find  Miff.  She  looked  in  alleys,  peeped  in  saloons; 
now  and  then  stole  inside  and  picked  up  a  handful  of  crackers  or 
something  from  a  free  lunch  counter.  On,  on  she  wandered  in 
darkness.  The  night  was  calm  and  still;  the  gas  jets  burned 
luminously;  now  and  then  some  vagabond  would  be  returning 
to  his  home;  again,  some  business  man  who  had  studied  until 
the  morning  hours  over  his  books.  No  one  bothered  Viola;  the 
policemen  looked  at  her  askance,  but  she  cast  at  them  a  defiant 
glance,  and  passed  on  inquiring  to  herself,  "  Miff,  O  Miff,  where 
are  you?"  She  left  the  streets  and  wandered  down  by  the  water 
front.  She  looked  in  the  low  saloons,  in  some  underground 


52  THE    STREET   AND    THE   FLOWER. 

traps;  she  looked  in  every  place  bad,  and  went  on  in  the  dark- 
ness, sometimes  murmuring  aloud,  "Miff,  Miff,"  then  sadly 
moaning,  "  I  wish  he  would  come." 

But  she  did  not  wait.  From  place  to  place  she  wandered, 
until  the  morning  sun  conquered  the  last  ray  of  darkness,  and 
light  overspread  the  city.  Then  she  wearily  turned  her  steps 
homeward.  As  she  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  stairway  and  glanced 
up,  she  beheld  Miff  lying  half-way  to  the  top,  the  stairs  bloody, 
and  Miff  silent,  unconscious,  perhaps  dead.  Quickly  she  sprang 
to  his  side,  as  though  the  sight  of  the  blood  had  nerved  her  like 
an  electric  shock.  She  took  his  head  in  her  lap  and  bathed  the 
blood-stained  face  in  tears.  She  knew  no  God  to  whom  she  could 
raise  her  eyes  and  implore  aid.  A  fierce  light  came  into  her  eyes. 
Her  broad  forehead  seemed  split  in  two  by  the  blue  vein  across 
it,  that  swelled  in  anger  until  the  blood  became  purple.  She 
was  pale  as  death;  her  eyes  became  tearless  and  dull  as  a  stone. 
With  the  sudden  strength  that  occasion  brings,  she  lifted  him  up 
tenderly  in  her  arms,  and  carried  him  to  the  room.  She  placed 
him  on  the  old  mattress,  and,  taking  off  her  woolen  skirt,  folded 
it  and  made  her  unconscious  lover  a  pillow.  She  bathed  the 
wounded  spot,  and  tried  to  stop  the  flow  of  blood,  but  it  flowed 
on.  She  knew  that  it  had  to  be  stopped,  and,  seizing  her  un- 
combed hair,  she  tore  it  in  frenzy  from  her  head,  the  pain  almost 
making  the  eyeballs  protrude  from  their  sockets.  She  matted 
the  hair  in  blood,  and  placed  it  over  the  wound,  and  then,  stoop- 
ing low,  kissed  the  clotted  hunk  of  hair.  It  had  stopped  the  flow 
of  blood.  "  Miff  is  saved,"  she  thought,  for  did  she  not  feel  the 
beating  of  his  heart  against  her  bosom  ?  For  a  moment  she 
left.  She  hurried  down  to  a  saloon,  and,  gliding  in,  seized  a 
bottle  of  brandy  before  the  astonished  barkeeper  had  time  to 
think  about  the  matter.  In  a  moment  she  was  pouring  the 
brandy  down  Miff's  throat.  The  barkeeper  of  course  followed 


THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER.  53 

the  thief,  but  his  hard  heart  was  touched  as  he  looked  upon  the 
scene.  A  crowd  gathered.  The  poverty  of  the  place  was  noticed. 
Many  who  had  not  the  money  to  buy  a  meal  dropped  their  bit -in 
the  barkeeper's  hand,  as  he  said,  "Let's  help  them  out;  poor 
girl,  looks  as  though  she  was  starving." 

Bona  caine  and  brought  a  flower;  she  placed  it  upon  Miff's 
breast.  Viola,  in  jealous  rage,  threw  it  out  of  the  window.  She 
kissed  Miff's  pallid  lips  as  a  mother  kisses  the  dead  corpse  of  her 
child,  and,  placing  her  arm  over  Miff,  turned  to  Bona,  and,  with 
all  the  vehemence  of  her  misguided  nature,  said:  "  Go  'way;  he 
is  mine,  all  mine;  you  can't  have  him — leave  me  alone." 

Bona  drew  back  in  surprise;  the  whole  truth  burst  upon  her 
at  once.  She  knew  the  secret  of  Miff's  peculiar  power  over  her; 
Miff  loved  her,  and  this  girl  was  jealous. 

"  I  will  not  take  him  from  you;  I  came  to  restore  him  to  you. 
I  brought  this  and  this,"  she  said,  as  she  unpacked  some  tempt- 
ing delicacies.  "  You  stay  with  him,  and  I  will  go  and  send  a 
doctor,  and  perhaps  get  some  money  for  you,  so  that  he  will  not 
need  to  be  removed  to  the  hospital,"  and  going  to  Viola,  she 
kindly  extended  her  hand,  but  Viola  turned  her  back. 

Bona  had  consecrated  her  life  to  useful  work.  Strange  has 
been  the  experience,  but  upon  the  matured  woman  can  be  seen 
the  early  training  of  Mrs.  Benton.  Despair  not,  faithful  mother, 
for  the  well-being  of  your  child,  if  you  have  trained  it  aright  in 
its  infancy. 

Bona  went  direct  to  Dr.  Halstead  and  told  him  about  the  two 
unfortunates.  The  good  and  5enerous  doctor  immediately  gave 
her  twenty-five  dollars  for  the  use  of  Miff  and  Viola.  As  Bona 
received  the  money,  she  turned  to  the  Doctor,  and,  with  one  of 
her  sweetest  smiles,  said:  "  Bemember,  Doctor,  that  I  believe 
that  there  is  a  sympathetic  cord  between  a  generous  heart  and 
the  pocket,  and  no  man  has  a  patent  on  nobility  unless  he  can 


54  THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

say,  '  I  give  cheerfully/  I  think,  Doctor,  that  you  have  the  most 
improved  patent  upon  nobility,  but  I  trust,  for  the  sake  of  hu- 
manity, that  others  will  infringe  upon  it." 

The  Doctor  replied,  modestly:  "You  have  no  reason  to 
suspect  a  man  of  being  generous,  if  he  has  means  so  to  be." 

Bona  left  with  the  money  in  her  hand,  and  hurried  back  to 
the  cheerless  home,  anticipating  the  pleasure  of  giving  Viola 
the  money.  When  she  entered  the  room,  Viola  greeted  her 
warmly,  and,  going  to  her,  said:  "  I  was  bad  this  morning.  I 
know  you  are  good,  and  I  should  not  hate  you  because  Miff 
likes  you  so  well." 

Viola  had  gone  down  on  the  street  and  picked  up  the  crushed 
flower,  and  placed  it  again  on  Miff's  breast. 

"  Hush!"  said  Viola,  "he  moves." 

Miff  struggled  a  little,  and  then  opened  his  eyes  and  looked 
around  the  room.  Bona  noticed  the  clotted  hair,  and,  looking 
at  Viola,  saw  the  bare  spot  upon  her  head,  the  blood  oozing  out 
from  where  the  hair  had  been  pulled. 

"Truly,  she  must  love  him.  I  will  never  more  despise  the 
bad,  because  in  moments  of  great  trials  they  prove  themselves 
superior  beings." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"Always  the  whisky!  forever  the  one  terrible  curse,  dragging  men  down. 
Always  the  awful,  soul-destroying  curse — drink,  from  which  the  nation  will 
make  no  mighty  effort  to  free  itself,  and  save  itself.  And  like  a  cloud  be- 
fpre  the  destructive  storm,  it  gathers  force  and  God's  lightnings." 

Viola  was  at  last  left  alone  with  Miff.  Soon  a  group  of  men 
from  the  saloon  came  kindly  in  to  see  if  they  coulchassist.  Hu- 
man nature  is  kind,  full  of  pity,  full  of  sympathy,  but  wonder- 
fully cold,  if  you  neither  rise  above  nor  sink  below  its  level.  Miff 
grew  worse;  his  eyes  opened  and  rolled,  his  legs  quivered. 

"  Can't  some  of  you  pray?"   asked  Viola. 

How  many  in  the  motley  group  were  reminded  of  the  prayer 
at  the  mother's  knee  ?  How  many  were  carried  back  to  the  dis- 
tant home,  perchance  to  sorna  old  farm-house,  yet  where  peace 
and  content  loved  to  dwell  ?  At  last  one  said  that  he  could 
pray.  He  had  not  forgotten — what  our  fashionable  people  have 
— to  kneel.  The  rough  m3n  took  off  their  hats,  and  ar£  we  mis- 
taken that  a  tear  glistened  in  many  an  eye?  Why,  no;  it  rolled 
down  the  cheek,  washing  a  farrow  as  it  dowed.  Sober,  silent 
and  reverenb  in  the  presence  of  death,  these  men  who  reviled 
the  church  felt  the  awful  presence  of  God  as  they  bowed  their 
heads. 

The  man  began  to  pray:  "  O  Lord" — His  courage  forsook 
him,  and  he  could  make  no  other  appe.-il.  He  arose  and  shrunk 
out  of  the  room,  guilty  sinner  that  he  was.  Then  another,  bolder 
and  seemingly  m^re  devout  than  the  rest,  tried  it.  He  kneeled 
at  Miff's  side  and  began: 

"  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep  " — He  thought  he  heard  an  irrever- 
ent companion  laughing;  he  left  and  started  to  the  saloon — the 


56  THE    STKEET    AND    THE    FLOWER. 

way  of  all  sinners.  The  humble  petition,  perhaps,  reached  as 
near  Heaven  as  the  rhetorical  prayer  from  a  book.  The  men 
were  dismayed.  The  doctor  arrived;  their  fears  were  ground- 
less— Miff  was  seriously,  though  not  mortally,  wounded.  "  This 
has  saved  his  life,"  said  the  doctor,  as  he  raised  the  clotted  hair 
from  the  wound.  "  Your  act  has  proven  your  affection  as  great 
as  that  of  the  Cynthian  maiden,  who  buried  her  lover  and  her 
beautiful  curls  together." 

Viola  smiled  gratefully.  The  trouble  had  made  her  wonder- 
fully tender  and  kind.  The  fierce,  wild  light  of  her  eye  was  sub- 
dued, and  she  hailed  with  gladness  the  news  of  Miff's  probable 
recovery.  Oswald  Grayson  heard  of  Miff's  wound,  and  hurried 
to  his  side.  Miff  was  able  to  converse.  He  told  his  story  in  a 
sad,  pitiful  way;  his  words  were  freighted  with  despair,  his  voice 
was  tuned  to  the  wail  of  despondency,  as  he  said:  "  For  two  long 
weeks  I  have  tried  to  do  without  drink.  Oh,  the  terrible  agony 
I  endured.  I  felt  like  a  fish  on  the  mountain  top;  my  throat 
burned.  I  felt  the  strength  of  my  nerves  oozing  through  my 
skin.  My  eyes  seemed  to  grow  dim.  I  felt  as  though  I  should 
die.  Driven  to  despair,  I  entered  a  saloon,  and  drank  and  drank 
until  fire  burned  in  my  veins.  I  had  a  fight  and  was  stabbed, 
and  that  is  why  I  am  here  almost  dead." 

f<  But  you  will  get  well  again,  Miff,"   said  Viola. 

"  I  hope  not,"  was  his  despondent  answer. 

"Always  the  whisky/'  said  Grayson,  "  forever  the  one  terri- 
ble curse,  dragging  men  down.  Always  the  awful,  soul-destroy- 
ing curse — drink,  from  which  the  nation  will  make  no  mighty 
effort  to  free  itself  and  save  itself.  And,  like  a  cloud  before  a 
destructive  storm,  it  gathers  force  and  God's  lightnings." 

If  you  have  ever  laughed  scornfully  at  a  temperance  fanatic, 
remember  the  cause  and  not  its  advocate.  Eeforms  in  society 
are  made  by  the  extremes  of  evils.  If  you  are  a  matter-of-fact 


THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER.  57 

man,  take  up  a  morning  newspaper;  we  will  wait  while  you 
read:  "A  man  kicked  his  wife  brutally,  because  she  reproved 
him  for  drinking  up  his  week's  wages  and  leaving  her  to  starve;" 
but  that  is  the  old  story— drink.  "A  poor,  crazy  fellow  hanged 
himself  in  a  police  cell" — all  drink.  "A  drunken  woman  dropped 
her  baby  out  of  the  window."  "A  man  was  found  crushed  upon 
the  railroad  track;  supposed  to  be  drunk."  But  these  are  the 
ordinary  day's  doings.  They  possess  nothing  new  to  the  toper, 
nor  to  others;  the  work  of  the  drink-devil  is  too  familiar  to  all. 
He  strikes  down  his  victims  in  daylight  as  well  as  under  cover 
of  darkness.  The  innocent  youth  is  not  too  small  to  receive  his 
notice,  nor  is  the  statesman  too  great.  He  invades  not  only  the 
home;  the  political  arena  is  his  dwelling  place  as  well  When 
will  the  nation  rise  in  its  might  ai\d  crush  out  the  monster  curse  ? 
Let  us  chain  the  drink-devil  in  the  bottomless  pit  forever  and 
forever.  Let  us  tear  down  the  Temple  of  Bacchus  and  build 
churches  and  schools.  The  shadow  of  death — the  shadow  of 
evil — lurks  on  every  corner.  A  saloon,  like  the  devil,  is  always 
at  a  man's  elbow.  Miff's  tragedy  had  no  especial  horror — a  man 
struck  down  in  a  drunken  brawl  in  a  saloon  —yet  the  horrors 
born  of  drink  are  a  shame  to  this,  a  Christian  nation. 

Oswald  Graysou  was  more  than  ever  in  earnest  in  his  work. 
He  saw  before  him  a  man  whom  he  had  tried  to  save;  he  saw 
that  he  was  working  almost  in  vain  for  the  myriads  of  weaklings 
drifting  with  the  current  to  their  soul's  discomfiture.  To  the 
next  man  he  met  he  presented  his  tract  as  though  it  were  a  pis- 
tol, and  demanded  the  man's  reformation  or  his  life. 

In  another  part  of  the  city  a  different  scene  was  enacted.  The 
appointed  hour  had  arrived  for  the  convicted  murderers  of  Jared 
Kenwood.  The  two  Chinamen  stood  at  the  entrance  of  another 
world;  the  latch-string,  the  hangman's  rope,  hung  above  their 
heads.  In  a  few  minutes  they  would  be  hanged.  The  yellow 


58  THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

countenances  paled;  they  feared  death,  and  trembled  violently 
at  its  approach.  They  declared,  "  Me  no  killee,"  not  with  a 
defiant  air,  but  piteously,  tremblingly,  mournfully.  True,  the 
evidence  was  not  strong  against  them,  but  it  requires  very  little 
to  convict  Chinamen.  Detestation  of  a  prisoner  is  three-fourths 
conviction.  The  Chinaman  cannot  cry  out  like  Paul,  "  I  am 
a  Roman."  His  nationality  is  his  grievous  crime.  No  respite 
was  granted  them,  no  pardon,  no  delay,  no  insanity  plea;  they 
must  die,  and  die  quickly.  The  Sheriff,  of  course,  had  sym- 
pathy for  them;  the  butcher  hates  to  hear  the  dying  pig  squeal, 
the  hangman  likewise  pities  his  victims. 

Grayson  mentioned  to  Miff  that  his  father's  murderers  would 
be  hanged  that  day.  Miff  was  visibly  affected;  Viola  turned 
pale. 

"  We  must  save  them,"  Miff  said. 

"How?"  asked  Viola. 

•'We  must  tell  who  killed  my  father." 

"  Then  mam  will  be  hanged.  No,  no!  I  can't  see  her  treated 
that  way." 

"But  would  you  let  two  Chinamen  die,  when  they  are  inno- 
cent? They  won't  hang  your  mother." 

"  They  are  only  Chinamen,  anyhow." 

"Well,  I  don't  care;  I  am  going  up  to  report,  and  you  go 
tell  your  wicked  mother  to  clear  out,  or  she  will  be  arrested." 

Miff,  still  weak,  started  towards  the  jail.  He  met  a  police- 
man, and  told  him  the  story;  but  the  knowing  guardian  did  not 
believe  the  story,  and  Miff  hurried  on.  The  wound  bled  afresh, 
the  pain  increased,  but  still  he  hastened  on.  At  last  Viola  over- 
took him,  and  they  proceeded  to  the  jail.  They  hurriedly  told 
their  story.  The  jailer  led  them  out  in  the  yard.  The  China- 
men had  just  been  cut  down.  Miff  and  Viola  gazed  on  their 
purple  faces,  and  knew  the  Chinamen  were  dead;  they  had  paid 


THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER.  59 

the  penalty  of  prejudice — the  penalty  of  accepting  the  invitation 
of  a  great  Christian  nation  to  enjoy  the  freedom  and  the  ad- 
vantage of  a  republican  government.  Miff  told  his  story,  but  it 
was  too  late.  Sad  words — too  late — fraught  with  peril  and  years 
of  regret.  The  law  was  appeased,  and  for  the  interest  of  the 
justice  of  law  the  correctness  of  its  verdicts,  its  dignity  and 
majesty,  but  little  effort  was  made  to  bring  Mrs.  Proctor  to  jus- 
tice; and  the  true  state  of  the  case  in  this  age  of  newspapers 
was  never  made  public. 

Miff  and  Viola  were  affected  by  the  scene,  and  quietly  they 
returned  to  their  dingy  room.  They  hardly  spoke;  events  began 
to  make  them  thoughtful.  As  they  walked  along  the  crowded 
streets,  they  were  as  much  alone  as  if  on  the  mountain  top. 
Their  lives  bad  arrayed  them  against  humanity;  they  were  com- 
pletely alone.  A  thief  may  love  company,  but  not  confidants. 
The  young  man  who  has  no  friends,  and  lives  an  honest,  upright 
life,  is  deserving  of  greater  honor  than  the  one  hedged  in  to 
noble  principles  by  a  circle  of  friends. 

When  Miff  and  Viola  reached  Proctor's  saloon,  they  found  the 
place  deserted.  Mrs.  Proctor  had  fled;  an  old  man  stood  behind 
the  counter  ready  to  wait  upon  the  miserable  customers.  He 
was  dirty  and  pals3r-stricken,  with  gray  hair  matted  about  his 
head  and  trailing  in  wiry  streaks  about  his  eyes.  He  was  a 
shambling,  half-drunken  shadow  of  a  man,  the  reflex  of  hun- 
dreds of  men  one  sees  at  low  saloon  counters,  or  reeling  through 
the"  back  streets  of  San  Francisco,  helpless  and  degraded  atoms 
of  humanity.  Why  such  men  exist  is  a  question  time  deals  with 
leniently. 

"  The  old  woman  is  gone,"  said  Miff.  "  Glad  of  it;  better  for 
her."  And  they  left  the  saloon,  looking  rather  fearlessly  at  the 
whisky-sodden  man  in  charge. 


CHAPTER   X. 

"There  is  an  eternal  warfare  between  education  and  nature — between  so- 
ciety and  the  natural  man.  It  begins  when  we  first  lisp  "A,  B,  C,"  and  the 
smoke  of  the  battle  clears  away  only  when  we  cross  into  the  kingdom  be- 
yond." 

Mental  struggles  are^the  fiercest.  The  mind  heralds  the  im- 
pulses of  the  heart.  Between  the  mind  and  the  heart  there  is  no 
contest.  The  warfare  exists  between  the  mind  and  nature. 
Strong  men  laugh  at  the  fancy.  Yet  we  have  seen  man's  na- 
ture turn  against  him,  and  with  a  cruel  weapon  pierce  his 
heart,  until,  like  the  drooping  flower,  he  withered  into  dust. 
Miff  and  Viola  had  joined  the  struggle.  They  had  met  the 
foe.  Their  minds,  though  weak,  were  awakened.  The  influ- 
ence of  Grayson,  Bona  and  Dr.  Halstead  had  moved  them. 
For  twenty  long  years  their  consciences  had  been  as  dormant 
as  those  of  the  soulless  animals,  and  their  deeds  as  wicked  as 
the  inclinations  of  conscienceless  beings  could  make  them.  Some- 
how they  now  felt  that  the  death  of  the  two  Chinamen  was  the 
result  of  their  action.  They  trembled;  they  looked  at  each  other, 
and  crime  was  the  intelligence  in  the  look. 

Miff,  as  he  walked  along,  would  sight  over  his  shoulder  like  a 
practiced  hunter,  fearing  at  each  corner  an  officer.  They  entered 
their  cheerless  room,  sad  and  disconsolate.  They  turned  in  dis- 
gust from  the  hoodlum  howling  a  ribald  song  from  deadfalls — 
the  fast,  inane  composition,  which  the  verdict  of  an  inane  audi- 
ence had  rendered  popular.  The  words  were  of  woman's  infidel- 
ity—base mockery  of  a  base  man.  The  praise  of  woman's  fidel- 
ity is  sung  by  angels  in  Heaven;  her  infidelity  is  applauded  by 
every  deadfall,  every  dive,  every  low  saloon  in  this  city.  Some 
righteous  men  will  point  the  fingers  of  scorn  at  Viola.  The 


THE    STEEET   AND    THE    FLOWER.  61 

flower  of  the  street  when  budding  was  beautiful,  but  it  was 
crushed.  How  could  it  blossom  on  the  street,  and  give  out  a 
delicious  perfume.  Yet,  though  crushed,  stamped  upon,  smoth- 
ered by  weeds,  rank,  foul  and  overpowering  the  flower,  preserved 
its  characteristics,  for  Viola  was  blessed  with  the  divine  attri- 
bute, fidelity.  She  was  as  tru§  to  Miff  as  nature  is  to  its  laws. 
Their  union  was  as  strong  as  though  bound  by  civil  law.  They 
were  as  much  one  as  though  the  priest  had  blessed  their  union. 
They  were  married  as  surely  as  the  mingling  of  souls,  as  the 
union  of  spirit,  as  the  communion  of  natures,  weds  two  lives  to- 
gether. They  were  bound  by  a  mightier  cord  than  that  of  a 
justice  of  the  peace,  because  to  break  the  bonds  of  love  you 
break  hearts,  but  to  break  the  bonds  of  civil  law  you  only  sever 
incompatible  natures. 

Miff  and  Viola  were  once  more  in  their  room.  They  rededi- 
cated  the  place  with  a  kiss,  and  joyously  did  Viola  meet  the  at- 
tack. It  was  to  her  the  nectar  that  made  the  lifeblood  thrill 
anew  in  her  veins.  Viola  without  God  and  without  love  was  a 
brute,  but  Viola  with  love  had  the  elements  of  divinity.  Teach 
a  woman  not  to  pray  and  not  to  love,  and  you  have  destroyed  the 
lights  of  her  life  and  made  bitter  your  own  existence. 

It  is  the  painful  duty  of  the  writers  to  continue  the  narrative 
of  Miff  and  Viola.  We  would  lift  them  above  vice,  but  we  still 
see  them  there.  We  would  make  them  good,  but  alas,  they  are 
bad.  We  would  reform  them,  but  their  evil  natures  are  still 
around  us.  We  would  take  them  away  from  dens  of  iniquity, 
but  we  glance  in  at  the  door  and  see  them  sip  the  beer.  We 
would  have  them  at  church,  but  we  cannot  drag  them  away  from 
the  saloon.  We  hear  men  shrieking  with  laughter  and  see 
women  lounging  about  in  gilded  palaces  of  sin,  as  though  they 
were  the  happiest  people  in  the  world,  as  though  the  care  and 
trouble  of  this  life  were  nothing  to  them.  It  is  the  tremor  of 


62  THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

drink,  the  excitement  of  sin.     The  awakening  comes  hereafter. 

In  such  places  Miff  and  Viola  are  to  be  found.  Arm  in  arm 
they  enter  the  gin  palace.  The  music  begins;  they  seat  them- 
selves at  a  table. 

"  Hello,  Miff;   glad  to  see  you  out  again,"  said  a  burly  fellow. 

"  You're  lookin'  better  than  you  did  afore/'   said  another. 

"  I  will  stand  the  drinks  on  your  return,"  said  a  third. 

"  Here,  waiter,  bring  the  beer.  Does  your  beauty  drink?" 
said  a  fourth,  looking  at  Viola. 

"I  am  one  of  the  boys,"  was  her  reply.  A  motley  crowd 
gathered  around  the  table  and  drank  the  foaming,  bitter,  ob- 
noxious beer. 

The  curtain  was  rung  up,  and  a  girl,  in  an  abbreviated  costume, 
entered  upon  the  stage;  with  a  smile  and  a  quirk  she  began  to 
sing  a  coarse,  rude  song. 

"  That's  splendid,"  said  Viola. 

The  men  applauded,  and  the  prima  donna,  generally  a  prima 
dunce,  sang  another  song.  They  applauded  again,  and  she 
sang  "In  the  Sweet  Bye  and  Bye." 

Tears  glistened  in  many  eyes.  Viola  was  touched,  and,  plac- 
ing her  hand  on  Miff's  arm,  she  said,  "  Wouldn't  it  be  grand, 
if  I  could  sing  such  songs  as  that?" 

"I  wouldn't  like  you  to  be  up  there.  Those  people  on  the 
stage  are  always  bad,  especially  at  such  places  as  this." 

"  I  don't  care  for  that,"  replied  Viola;    "  I  am  bad,  too." 

This  remark  seemed  to  please  one  of  the  men,  and  he  took 
some  liberties  which  she  roughly  resented,  and  Miff  with  flash- 
ing eyes  bade  him  desist. 

"  You're  a  happy  pair,  you  are.  When  did  ye  git  out  of  jail 
last  ?" 

"  I  was  never  in  jail,"  answered  Viola. 

"Well,  you  ought  to  have  been,  anyhow,"  was  the  fellow's 
reply. 


THE  STBEET  AND  THE  FLOWER.  C3 

"  See  here,  talk  to  me  and  not  to  the  woman,  who  cannot  re- 
sent your  impudence." 

"  Yes,  but  I  can,  Miff.  See  here!"  And  with  this  Viola  slapped 
him  in  the  face. 

The  man  was  angered,  and  he  raised  his  fist  to  strike  her;  but 
Miff  was  too  quick,  and  the  man  was  lying  upon  the  floor  stunned 
by  a  blow  from  his  fist.  "  Good,"  said  they  all.  Viola  obtained 
some  water  and  bathed  the  face  of  her  wounded  insulter,  who, 
when  he  revived,  arose  and  left  the  place  without  a  word,  but 
looked  vengeance  at  Miff  and  Viola.  His  place  was  no  sooner 
vacated  than  a  youth  of  eighteen  entered  and  sat  down  in  their 
midst. 

"  He  is  a  bird  with  feathers,"   whispered  one. 

"  He  is  from  the  interior,"  said  Miff. 

A  mutual  understanding  arose  among  them.  Somehow  they 
knew  that  the  stranger  was  green.  To  an  unpractised  eye  he 
looked  like  other  men.  Yet  the  men  in  the  gin  palace  knew  at 
sight  that  the  newcomer  could  be  easily  duped.  Was  it  his 
hands,  his  feet,  his  eye,  his  movements  or  conversation,  that 
revealed  his  verdancy  ?  Surely  not  the  latter,  for  he  had  not 
spoken  a  word. 

"  Stranger,  take  a  drink  with  us,"  said  Miff. 

"  No,  thank  you;   I  never  drink,"  was  his  courteous  reply. 

"Have  a  cigar,  then?" 

"  No,  sir;   I  don't  smoke  either." 

"Will  you  play  keerds?"  asked  another. 

"  No,  thanks;   I  never  play  cards." 

"  Will  you  go  to  the  green-room  ?" 

"Where?" 

"  To  the  green-room." 

"Where's  that?" 

"  On  the  stage." 


,64  THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER. 

"  No,  sir;   I  only  have  a  moment  to  stay." 

"  Well,  stranger,  it  seems  to  me  as  though  you  enjoyed  none 
of  the  comforts  of  this  life/'  said  Miff. 

"  I  am  quite  comfortable,  thank  you." 

"  We  don't  want  any  of  your  thanks.  Corns,  give  |iis  a  treat, 
won't  ye  ?"  said,  a  rather  rough  customer. 

"  Do,"  said  Viola.     And  her  eyes  persuaded  him. 

"  Order  what  you  want,  gentlemen/'  said  the  perfectly  polite 
young  man  from  the  interior. 

"  Well,  you  understan'  your  business,  you  do,"   said  Miff. 

The  crowd  ordered  the  best  in  the  house,  stating  that  the 
gentleman  would  pay.  "Here's  to  you."  The  glasses  tipped  in 
true  Bohemian  fashion,  and  the  gentleman's  health  was  drank 
with  alacrity. 

"Taste  this,  won't  you?"  And  again  Viola's  eyes  persuaded 
him.  He  took  the  delicately  formed  champagne  glass,  and 
drained  its  contents. 

"  I  will,  just  for  this  night,  see  what  there  is  of  life,  and  I 
may  as  well  stand  in  with  the  others.  More  champagne!"  he 
called  to  the  waiter,  as  the  bottle  was  emptied. 

"Two  dollars,"  said  the  waiter. 

George  Dean  paid  the  bill  with  a  slight  hesitation.  He  was 
poor,  yet  for  once  he  thought  he  would  pay  for  his  experience. 
The  champagne  was  again  drunk  to  his  health.  The  flattery  of 
Viola,  the  compliments  of  the  men,  urged  him  on.  Viola  teased 
him  upon  his  good  looks,  and  Miff  wanted  to  borrow  a  dollar; 
but  George  Dean  had  some  sense  remaining,  yet  when  Viola 
touched  his  hand  and  said,  "  Please  give  me  some  money,"  he 
drew  forth  his  hand  from  his  pocket,  and  gave  her  double  the 
sum  Miff  asked  for. 

Poor,  misguided  youth!  Better  for  you,  better  for  society,  if 
you  never  had  such  experience.  The  fascinations  of  a  low  music 


THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER.  6*5 

hall  should  never  charm  a  true  man.  You  ought  to  despise 
yourself  for  ever  entering  one.  No  man  is  made  better,  wiser  or 
more  content  by  experiencing  the  dark  side  of  life  even  for  a 
night. 

The  man  began  to  play  cards.  Soon  the  prima  donna  came 
upon  the  stage  again,  and  by  request  sang  "  In  the  Sweet  Bye 
and  Bye  "  again. 

"  This  can't  be  much  worse  than  a  Sunday  school,  if  they  sing 
such  songs/'  thought  George  Dean.  But  alas,  George  Dean, 
before  the  sun  makes  crime  hide  itself  for  shame,  you  will  wish 
you  had  never  gone  into  the  gin  palace. 

At  last  he  was  induced  to  bat  on  the  cards,  and  Viola  was  the 
one  who  persuaded  him.  The  poor  br>y  bet  on  and  on,  until  his 
last  dollar  was  gone.  His  head  was  too  hot  to  realize  his  loss. 
Viola  was  by  his  side  urging  him  on,  for  Miff  was  gaining  the 
money. 

"This  is  better  than  stealing,  isn't  it?"  she  whispered  to  Miff. 

It  was  midnight — the  hour  for  crime  and  vengeance,  the  time 
when  low  saloons  make  money  and  criminals. 

George  Daan,  in  a  fit  of  passion,  struck  a  blow,  and  in  return 
was  assailed  and  brutally  beaten.  Viola  tried  to  interfere,  but 
she  could  not.  It  was  she  who  bathed  his  head  and  bound  up 
his  wounds,  and  with  Miff's  aid  she  took  him  to  their  room,  and 
made  Miff  put  part  of  the  money  back  into  his  pocket.  They 
dosed  him  with  brandy,  and  he  slept  under  its  influence. 

In  the  morning  Bona  called  to  inquire  about  Miff.  It  had 
been  two  weeks  since  she  had  seen  him.  After  his  sickness  he 
had  avoided  her;  he  would  not  look  her  in  the  face. 

"Well,  what  have  we  here?"  Bona  said,  as  she  noticed  the 
youth  upon  the  floor. 

"  He  is  asleep;  don't  wake  him.  He  got  hurt  last  night," 
said  Viola. 


66  THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

"It seems  to  me  as  though  you  are  rather  unfortunate;  Miff 
has  just  got  well,  and  now  you  have  another  one  on  your  hands. 
I  am  afraid  Miff  is  getting  morally  worse,  instead  of  better.55 

Miff  did  not  reply.  Bona  placed  her  hand  on  the  young  man's 
forehead.  His  blue  eyes  opened. 

"Where  ami?55 

"Among  friends,  I  guess,55  was  Bona's  reply. 

And  she  looked  upon  his  face  and  into  his  blue  eyes,  which 
shone  so  tenderly.  She  knew  he  was  not  one  who  was  in  the 
habit  of  being  in  such  company  as  Miff  and  Viola.  She  looked 
at  him  again,  and  exclaimed: 

"  Why,  it  is  Georgy.  Those  are  his  eyes  and  features.55  And 
she  stooped  over  him  and  said,  "  Don't  you  know  me?5' 

He  shook  his  head,  and  then  she  said,  •'  I  am  Bona." 

"Are  you  Bona?  Oh!  I  am  so  glad  I  have  found  you.  I  have 
looked  everywhere  for  you,55  he  said. 

The  reader  must  wait  until  the  next  chapter  for  explanation, 
for  Bona  turned  and  began  scolding  Miff.  "  I  thought  you  were 
going  to  be  good.55 

"  I  did  try— I  tried  for  your  sake,  but  I  can't  be.55 

"Neither  can  I,55  reflected  Viola.  "  We  want  to  be  just  like 
you  are.  I  can't  read,  write,  or  do  anything.  We  must  be  bad, 
though  we  wish  we  were  like  you.55 

Miff  had  tried  faithfully  to  be  good.  He  had  met  the  foe;  but 
twenty  years  of  bad  training  could  not  be  overcome.  You  who 
would  better  humanity  must  remember  that  there  is  an  eternal 
warfare  between  education  and  man — between  society  and  the 
natural  state.  It  begins  with  the  first  lisp  "A,  B,  C,"  and  the 
smoke  of  battle  clears  away  only  when  we  cross  the  line  into  the 
kingdom  beyond. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

"He  who  falls  below  the  level,  then  rises  above  it,  and  maintains  the  alti- 
tnde  against  all  allurements,  is  infinitely  better  than  the  man  who  runs 
upon  the  level  of  common  humanity." 

George  Dean  was,  years  before,  in  the  same  Orphans'  School 
in  which  Oswald  Grayson  had  placed  Bona.  After  years  of 
separation,  she  remembered  the  bright  face  of  the  boy  who  had 
shared  the  sorrows  of  an  orphans'  home,  under  the  direction  of 
public  patronage.  Bona  had  escaped  under  cover  of  darkness, 
and  wandered  around  until  she  had  found  her  benefactress, 
Mrs.  Beuton.  George  Dean  was  taken  from  the  school  and 
placed  upon  a  ranch  by  a  man  who  was  glad  to  get  him  for  his 
board  and  clothing — a  mild  system  of  terminal  slavery  in  vogue 
at  most  of  our  institutions  for  homeless  children. 

Bona  was  a  sympathetic  listener  to  George  Dean's  interesting 
story.  We  will  let  him  state  it  himself. 

"  In  the  morning  I  awoke  and  found  you  gone.  Everybody 
searched  for  you,  and  I^remember  seeing  more  than  one  cry; 
but  the  excitement  had  hardly  subsided  when  I  was  called  into 
the  office,  and  was  placed  under  the  inspection  of  an  old,  gray- 
headed  man,  who  spoke  roughly  to  me,  and  wanted  to  know  if  I 
was  smart.  I  told  him  I  wasn't,  and  that  seemed  to  satisfy  him, 
for  he  said  he  would  take  me.  That  day  I  was  taken  from  the 
place,  and  was  placed  on  a  ranch  in  the  Sacramento  Valley. 
Farmer  Hoffman  was  a  hard  master,  and  he  put  me  to  work  with 
the  Chinamen  on  his  ranch.  I  had  to  get  up  in  the  morning  at 
six,  and  work  until  eight  at  night.  I  would  never  have  had  any 
education  at  all,  but  the  teacher  at  the  district  school  taught  me 
some  evenings,  and  I  was  thus  permitted  to  acquire  a  little  learn- 


68  THE  STKEET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

ing.  I  was  bound  to  the  man  until  I  was  eighteen  }'ears  of  age, 
and  was  compelled  to  work  all  the  time  for  my  board  and  clothes. 
From  the  time  I  was  fifteen,  I  did  a  man's  work.  My  hands  are 
calloused,  my  muscles  are  large,  my  feet  flattened  by  much 
walking.  I  did  not  live,  I  simply  existed,  and  O  Bona!  often 
when  sick  and  tired,  your  sweet  face  would  inspire  me,  and  I 
would  wonder  if  I  would  ever  see  you  again. " 

As  he  said  this,  Bona  caressed  him  modestly.  He  paused, 
looked  into  her  face;  their  eyes  met — there  was  a  blessed  awak- 
ening. She  realized  that  her  girlhood  was  passed,  and  Dean  felt 
the  full  force  of  the  consciousness  of  young  manhood.  There  is 
an  affinity  that  exists  between  playmates  that  draws  souls  to- 
gether in  later  years.  George  told  his  tale  wondrously  well. 
Bona  wept  as  he  recited  the  terrible  hardships  that  old  Farmer 
Hoffman  made  him  endure.  Her  tears  were  sweet  to  him.  Man 
would  rather  have  woman  cry  at  the  recital  of  his  sufferings  than 
laugh  at  his  awkwardness.  George  Dean  continued  his  story : 

11  The  last  two  years  of  my  life  were  a  continual  fight  against 
the  oppressions  of  Hoffman.  I  was  compelled  to  do  work  which 
the  Chinamen  refused  to  do.  I  ran  away  twice,  but  each  time  I 
was  brought  back  and  horsewhipped,  and  once  was  compelled 
to  suffer  from  a  whip  in  the  hands  of  a  Chinaman.  Once  I  es- 
caped, but  I  saw  behind  me  a  Chinaman  in  full  pursuit.  I  was 
lame,  and  could  not  run  very  fast;  still,  I  knew  that  if  I  reached 
the  banks  of  the  Sacramento,  I  could  hide  in  the  underbrush. 
On  came  the  Chinaman,  old  Hoffman's  trusted  servant.  He  was 
a  large,  burly  fellow,  and  was  called  the  '  boss.'  The  race  began 
in  earnest;  I  could  run  faster  than  the  Chinaman,  but  was  lame. 
The  Chinaman  brandished  a  long  lash,  and  came  after  me  at  full 
speed.  If  I  reached  the  underbrush,  I  was  safe,  for  I  could  hide 
easily.  It  was  a  mile,  and  through  a  grain-field;  the  wheat  was 
about  eight  inches  high,  and  the  late  rains  had  left  the  ground 


THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER.  69 

soft  and  in  many  places  muddy.  The  Chinaman  was  close  upon 
me;  I  grew  pale  with  fear.  He  drew  the  lash  and  cut  me  around 
the  legs.  I  stopped,  grabbed  a  handful  of  mud,  and  threw  it 
with  almost  irresistible  force  into  his  face.  He  gave  a  yell,  and 
before  he  could  see  I  had  distanced  my  heathen  pursuer  many 
rods.  Maddened  by  the  defeat,  the  Chinaman  again  gained 
upon  me.  My  lameness  became  worse;  '  I  will  reach  the  tvoods,' 
I  thought.  The  race  now  became  fierce,  and  fiercer;  it  was  nip 
and  tuck.  I  could  have  turned  around  and  fought  the  China- 
man, but  I  knew  he  was  armed,  and  even  then,  I  doubted  if  I 
was  equal  in  brute  force  to  him.  I  grew  hot;  he  gained  upon 
me.  The  perspiration  rolled  from  my  forehead.  The  race  grew 
desperate;  I  was  again  tempted  to  throw  mud  in  his  face,  but 
the  underbrush  was  near — I  could  hear  the  sweet  murmurings 
of  the  Sacramento  river.  With  renewed  effort  I  pushed  forward. 
At  last  I  was  within  the  shade  of  the  woods.  I  stumbled  over  a 
club;  I  picked  it  up,  and,. with  an  oath  that  startled  me,  because 
I  never  swore  before,  I  turned  upon  the  Chinaman.  To  my 
great  surprise,  he  started  on  a  run.  I  became  the  pursuer,  and 
he  the  pursued.  I  ran  him  into  the  woods;  as  he  ran  around  a 
small  tree,  I  grabbed  his  pig-tail  and  brought  him  to  a  sudden 
stop.  Then  he  started  forward,  but  wound  himself  around  the  tree, 
until  his  pig-tail  was  wrapped  several  times  around  and  his  head 
fastened  close  to  the  tree.  I  stood  there  holding  the  end  of  the 
pig-tail,  like  a  sailor  holding  a  ship  to  her  moorings,  while  the 
Chinaman  yelled  piteously,  '  Yi  Hi  Yai  Ha  jidai  Oi  Yai!'  I  tied 
his  greasy  pig-tail  to  the  tree,  gave  him  a  few  lashes  with  the 
horsewhip  and  started  off  into  the  woods,  traveling  day  and  night 
until  I  arrived  in  Solano  County.  There  I  found  work  with  a 
good,  honest  rancher;  he  treated  me  well  and  paid  me  good 
wages,  so  that  I  saved  enough  to  take  me  to  the  academy  to 
school.  This  week  I  came  to  the  citv  the  first  time  since  I  was 


70  THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER. 

taken  away,  and  alas,  you  know  how  in  a  moment  of  temptation 
I  fell  last  night,  but,  thank  Heaven,  I'll  never  visit  such  a  place 
again.  I  have  had  my  curiosity  satisfied;  my  lesson  is  learned, 
a  bitter  experience  paid  for,  and  I  know  that  the  little  Bona, 
who  cried  for  me  when  whipped  at  the  orphans'  school,  will  not 
despise  me  now." 

"  No,  I  am  very  sorry  for  you." 

"  You  have  not  told  me  of  your  life  since  I  saw  you  last." 

"  There  is  not  much  to  tell.  After  leaving  the  orphans'  school, 
I  found  Mrs.  Benson,  and  you  know  my  life  could  not  be  sad 
after  that.  I  have  assisted  Mrs.  Benson  in  her  work;  I  pay  al- 
most daily  visits  to  this  part  of  town,  and  help  distribute  flow- 
ers and  food  among  the  destitute  and  helpless.  You  remember 
Mrs.  Bsnson,  my  adopted  mother,  for  I  am  Bona  Benson.  She 
still  keeps  her  infant  school,  and  hundreds  of  children  are  saved 
by  her.  She  don't  work  by  committees,  like  other  charitable 
people,  but  does  the  work  herself.  I  have  nothing  else  to  tell 
you,  only  that  I  have  been  very  happy  in  my  work,  and  that  I 
see  enough  poverty  and  misery  in  one  day,  in  this  city,  to  keep 
me  busy  for  years  and  years.  Why,  every  time  I  visit  Miff  and 
Viola,  they  need  help.  They  are  both  bad,  but  there  are  many 
much  worse.  I  guess  it  was  Miff  who  took  your  money  last 
night." 

"Yes,  that's  me,"  said  Miff,  coming  forward,  "and  if  you  are 
a  friend,  stranger,  of  that  girl,  here  is  every  dollar  of  your 
money  back  again,  and  I  think  if  I  should  see  Bona  all  the  time, 
I  would  not  be  so  bad." 

"  Don't  Miff,"  exclaimed  Viola. 

"Why?"  asked  Miff. 

"  You  know  I  am  jealous  of  her,  and  when  you  talk  that  way 
it  hurts  me." 

"  Well,  darling,  you  know  I  am  not   hankerin'  after   Bona's 


THE    STREET   AND    THE   FLOWER.  71 

style  just  now;  you're  a  thousand  times  better  than  she  is,  for 
me." 

Viola  stopped  whistling  a  low  melody  while  she  kissed  him. 

"  Them  two  are  in  love,"  said  Viola. 

11  You  think  so  ?"  replied  Miff. 

"  Yes;  persons  don't  talk  about  nothing  so  long,  unless  they 
like  each  other." 

"I  wish  we  could  get  him  out  of  this.  He  has  all  his  money 
back;  he  ought  to  be  satisfied  now." 

"  I  wish  Bona  wo\ild  go.    "Why  does  she  come  here  so  much  ?'*' 

"  She  must  hate  me  now." 

The  quick  ears  of  Bona  caught  every  word  they  said.  She 
arose  from  her  position,  and,  going  over  to  where  they  were 
standing,  said: 

"  No,  I  do  not  hate  you,  Miff,  but  I  pity  you.  I  hope  the  day 
will  come  when  you  and  Viola  will  cease  your  wicked  ways  and 
live  to  be  an  honored  man  and  woman." 

"  O  Bona,  I  would  if  I  could,  but  I  can't,  and  if  I  can't, 
how  can  J  ?" 

"  Get  work;  go  away  from  here.  Come  to  our  Sunday  school 
regularly,  and  leave  Viola — " 

"  No;  he  will  never  leave  me,  and  you  are  wicked  to  tell  him 
to.  If  he  leaves  me,  I'll  drown  myself  in  the  bay." 

""Well,  if  you  love  him,  Viola,  you  ought  to  persuade  him  to 
be  good,  for  if  you  don't  the  law  will  separate  you,  and  iron 
bars  will  separate  you." 

"  We  are  happy,  as  happy  as  you;  nothing  troubles  us  now. 
We  have  given  your  lover  back  his  money,  and  cared  for  him; 
now  take  him  and  go." 

"  Don't  be  angry,  Viola;  Bona  is  our  best  friend,"  said  Miff. 

"It  is  no  use,  Bona;  you  had  better  leave  us  alone;  perhaps 
we'll  grow  better  some  day." 


72  THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER. 

As  Viola  mentioned  the  name  of  "lover,"  Bona  blushed  and 
turned  her  head  away  from  taeorge  Dean. 

"  I  will  bid  you  good-by,  Miff,  and  you  too,  Viola,  but  I  know 
that  you  will  change  some  day,  won't  you  ?  Don't  forget  our 
meetings  at  the  Children's  Hall." 

She  then  turned  to  George,  and  assisted  him  to  rise. 

"  Where  am  I  going,  though  ?" 

"With  me." 

"You  know  I  cannot  associate  with  you  until  I  prove  myself 
worthy  of  your  confidence.  Let  me  go  away  by  myself,  and  when 
I  am  strong  and  pure,  I  will  come  back  to  you  as  a  friend." 

"  No,  come  with  me  now.  I  have  sympathy  for  you,  and 
while  I  am  sorry  that  you  yielded  to  temptation,  yet  I  remember 
that  he  who  falls  below  the  level,  then  rises  above  it  and  main- 
tains the  altitude  against  all  allurements,  is  infinitely  better  than 
a  man  who  runs  upon  the  level  of  common  humanity." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"There  is  a  generosity  born  of  greed,  a  charity  overshadowed  by  sin,  a 
giving  that  is  petty  larceny." 

G-eorga  Daan  and  Bona  went  away  together.  Miff  and  Yiola 
were  left  alone. 

"  Well,  we  are  rid  of  them,"  said  Miff. 

"  Glad  of  it,"  replied  Yiola. 

"  I  wish  you  were  like  Bona." 

"  I  wish  you  would  never  see  Bona  again.  Why  do  you  al- 
ways want  me  better  than  you  ?  If  I  am  as  good  as  you,  ain't  I 
good  enough  ?  'Tain't  no  use  for  me  to  be  better  than  you.  A 
woman  oughtn't  to  be  better  than  a  man,  anyhow,  yet  if  she  is 
bad  it  is  awful,  but  if  he  is  bad— why,  it  don't  seem  to  make 
much  difference  ?  " 

"  Why,  Viola,  you  are  good  enough  for  me — you  are  too 
good,  you  know  you  are.  You  are  my  flower,  the  perfume  of 
my  life.  Didn't  you  steal  pies,  and  bring  them  to  me  in  jail? 
It  was  you  who  nursed  me  and  saved  me — yes,  it  is  you  who 
loves  me,  cares  for  me,  and  would  do  anything  for  me." 

"  I  would  die  for  you,  Miff." 

C(  And  I — I  will  live  for  you,  Yiola." 

"  Oh,  Miff,  I  am  happy  now.  Don't  you  think  I  am  as  pretty 
as  Bona  ?  " 

"  What  a  funny  question  !  Why,  yes,  Yiola;  you  are  pret- 
tier— only  Bona  looks  to  me  like  an  angel,  while  you,  you  are 
like  me.  We  are  not  fair  and  pure,  as  she  is.  Let  us  be  that 
way.  Let  us  wash  our  faces  once  a  day,  and  get  new  clothes, 
and  be  nice.  Do  you  know  ? — I  believe  the  reason  we  steal  so 
much  is  because  we  are  so  dirty.  I  never  saw  anybody  steal 
that  was  real  nice  and  clean." 


74  THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

"Don't  you  remember  that  stuck-up  fellow?  He  was  in  jail 
when  you  were/' 

"  Yes;  but  he  robbed  a  bank.  Of  course  such  big  thieves  are 
always  stylish.  I  mean  honest  men,  who  keep  clean,  never 
steal — that  is,  honest  men  like  me." 

"  You  are  honest,  ain't  you?  You  gave  Bona's  fellow  all  his 
money  back." 

"  I  did  that  for  sake  of  charity." 

"  Are  you  going  to  turn  charity  man  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Do  you  know  what  I  will  do  first  ?  I  will  give  you 
five  hundred  dollars." 

"  I  wish  charitj7  people  were  like  you.  But  if  you  were  a 
charity  man,  you  would  not  give  me  even  a  flower." 

"  I  would — I  would  send  you  to  school.  I  would  buy  you 
fine  dresses.  I  would  give  you  something  to  eat  every  day." 

"  I  am  hungry  now." 

"  I  wish  I  was  a  charity  man." 

"  They  are  not  all  bad.  There  is  Dr.  Halstead,  and  Grayson, 
and  Bona — " 

"  Bona  is  not  a  charity  man.     She  is  a  woman." 

"  She  is  better  for  that." 

"  Miff,  let  us  do  like  the  charity  people.  Suppose  we  go 
'round  and  visit  the  sick  to-day  like  they  do,  and  have  some  ex- 
perience." 

"  Would  you  like  it?" 

"Yes;  just  for  the  fun.  We  will  go  down  along  the  water 
front  to  those  tumble-down  houses,  and  talk  religion  and  such 
things." 

"  We  ought  to  take  some  money  and  some  food  along." 

"  Get  the  basket,  and  we  will  steal  some  fruit,  and  perhaps 
there  is  some  money  in  the  drawer  of  mamma's  saloon." 

"  It's  a  go." 


THE    STREET   AND    THE    FLOWER.  75 

"You  get  the  money,  and  I'll  get  the  food.  We  ought  to 
have  a  Bible,  too." 

"  But  we  can't  read." 

"  1  guess  we  are  all  the  happier  for  that,  because  I  always 
hear  them  talk  about  the  dreadful  things  in  the  papers.  Mam 
always  told  me  there  was  lots  of  bad  things  I  would  never  find 
out  if  I  never  learnt  to  read.  She  teached  me  grammar  and 
spelling,  but  never  readin'.  Grammar  is  talkin',  and  you  know 
lean  talk." 

"  We  ought  to  have  a  Bible.  I  can  spell  words  out.  Then  it 
will  look  more  like  G-rayson  to  carry  a  book  " 

They  went  down  to  a  low  saloon,  and  inquired  for  a  Bible. 

"  Git  you  out'!  Yat  you  means  ?"  exclaimed  the  irate  man, 
with  the  proverbial  nose. 

They  left,  and  tried  at  another  place,  where  the  German  was 
much  better  than  his  business;  for,  when  they  inquired  for  a 
Bible,  he  said: 

"  That's  right,  my  dears — bless  you.  It  will  do  mit  you  good. 
Read  it  much." 

Miff  took  the  Bible,  and  when  they  got  on  the  street  they  put 
their  heads  close  together  and  began  to  spell.  A  puzzled  look 
stole  over  Miff's  face;  he  slowly  spelled  Du  sollest  schanen  Sie 
sich.  "  Well,  I  never  saw  such  queer  letters  before." 

His  EnglMi  education  was  limited,  his  German  was  much  more 
so.  He  gazed  at  the  letters  in  amazement,  and,  picking  up  a 
piece  of  newspaper,  he  compared  the  two,  and  then,  turning 
to  Viola,  said:  "The  blamed  Chinese  are  making  our  Bibles, 
too.  See,  this  isn't  English,"  and  he  carefully  pointed  out  the 
difference. 

"It  will  do,  an}rhow,"  said  Yiola. 

"Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  patronize  Chinese  labor?  No, 
sir."  And  he  went  back  to  the  German,  and  threw  down  his 
Bible,  swearing  that  he  wouldn't  patronize  Chinese  labor. 


76  TBE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

The  next  move  was  for  the  outfit.  They  separated.  Viola, 
with  her  old  stealth  and  cuteness,  succeeded  in  getting  a  boy 
to  steal  an  apple  for  five  cents,  and  then  gleefully  watched  the 
little  thief  pursued  by  the  wronged  fruit  vendor,  while  Viola 
filled  her  basket  with  apples,  pears  and  grapes,  and  then  satis- 
fied she  waited  until  the  fruit  vendor  returned  out  of  breath, 
blowing  like  an  exhausted  race-horse.  He  received  her  con- 
doneinent  gratefully.  She  gave  him  a  five  cent  piece,  and  walked 
away  well  satisfied  with  her  work. 

Miff  was  likewise  fortunate.  He  entered  the  saloon,  and  de- 
manded, according  to  his  usual  custom,  and  received  his  dollar. 
They  met  at  their  dingy  quarters,  and  started  out  like  people 
with  plenty  to  eat  and  plenty  to  spare,  he  in  his  ragged  coat  and 
tattered  pants,  she  in  her  faded  calico  dress.  They  looked  gen- 
erous— generous  to  wine;  they  looked  charitable — charitable  to 
sin;  they  looked  philanthropic  —  philanthropic  to  every  evil 
scheme.  Thus  these  two,  Miff  and  Yiola — the  street  waif  and 
the  flower  that  grew  and  lost  its  perfume,  crushed  upon  the 
cobble  stone — started  out  on  their  mission  of  charity.  Strange 
indeed  the  mission  of  the  blacklegs,  good  work  for  petty  thieves. 
Would  that  the  hundreds  who  live  upon  the  offal,  saloon  dives, 
dens,  holes  and  worse  than  pits  were  engaged  likewise. 

They  went  down  to  the  water  front,  in  the  narrow  alleys  where 
poverty  and  vice  are  boon  companions,  and  the  only  struggle  is 
for  breathing  space,  where  narrow  streets  and  filthy  alleys  jostle 
each  other.  There  are  a  hundred  miserable  hovels,  and  above 
all  there  looms  a  gloomy  house,  that  frowns,  like  a  sullen  tyrant, 
frowning  down  upon  a  crowd  of  abject,  poverty-stricken  slaves. 
Sad,  gloomy,  desolate;  decay  and  rottenness  was  apparent  from 
roof  to  base.  In  one  of  the  apartments  of  this  house  Miff  and 
Viola  sought  an  entrance.  They  knocked.  The  door  was  opened; 
a  meek,  gentle  voice  said,  "  Come  in." 


THE    STREET    AND    THE   FLOWER.  77 

An  old  table,  a  few  rickety  chairs,  that,  like  rebel  soldiers,  lost 
their  legs  in  a  bad  cause,  a  tin  candlestick,  a  rusty  stove,  with 
unjointed  pipe,  a  wretched  mattress  piled  up  in  a  corner,  as  if 
ashamed  to  be  seen  without  a  bedstead,  comprised  the  furniture. 

"  We  come,  my  good  woman/'  said  Viola  to  a  wan-looking 
woman,  "  to  give  charity.  We're  charity  folks,  ain't  we,  Miff?" 

"  That's  our  racket,  dear  woman;  here's  a  dollar,  and  we  will 
send  the  prayers  around  after  a  while.  Viola  has  seme  food  in 
her  basket." 

The  children  gathered  around  Miff  and  Viola,  and  looked  up 
into  their  faces  with  their  hollow  eyes,  and  as  they  ate  the  fruit 
they  were  profuse  in  their  thanks. 

"  You  are  the  best  charity  people  that  ever  visited  us." 

"  You're  awful  good,"  said  the  oldest  boy,  as  he  devoured  a 
large  apple  in  double-quick  time. 

"  Children,"  said  the  wan-eyed  lady,  "  say   '  Thank  you.' ' 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  children,  in  chorus. 

"  We  only  do  our  duty,"  replied  the  hypocritical  Miff,  as  he 
placed  his  hand  on  a  curly  head,  and  stooped  to  kiss  the  lately 
washed  cheeks. 

"  This  is  better  than  stealin',  isn't  it,  Miff?" 

"  It's  glorious  to  be  charity  folks.  Let  us  make  a  business  of 
it." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  we  cannot  do  more  for  you,"  said  Viola, 
turning  to  the  wan-eyed  woman. 

"  Why,  you  have  done  much  more  than  any  who  have  ever  vis- 
ited us  before." 

"  I  would  read  the  Bible  to  you,  but  I  cannot,"  dolefully  ex- 
claimed Miff. 

"  The  Bible  is  a  good  book,  but  it  does  not  supply  food  for 
my  children,  though  it  was  the  Bible  that  taught  you  to  be  kind 
and  generous  to  me  to-day." 


78  THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER. 

"  No,  it  wasn't,'*  exclaimed  Viola;  "  we  learned  this  from  Bona 
and  Gray  son." 

"  Perhaps  they  learned  it  from  the  Bible,  because  to  be  chari- 
table is  one  of  its  most  emphatic  teachings." 

"  They  didn't  learn  it  at  all;  they  were  always  that  way — ever 
since  they  were  born,"  said  Miff. 

"And  were  you  always  charitable?" 

"  No,  mum;  to-day  we  got  charitable  for  the  first  time,  but 
we  will  always  be  this  way  hereafter,  won't  we,  Miff?" 

"  I  rather  guess  so." 

They  had  given  all  their  food  and  money  to  the  first  woman, 
and  so  they  prepared  to  leave.  The  wan-eyed  woman  said  to 
the  children:  "Say  'Thank  you'  again." 

"  Thank  you  again,"  chorused  the  children,  rudely. 

Miff  and  Viola  had  no  sooner  left  the  place  than  the  woman 
with  wan  eyes  called  the  oldest  boy  to  her  side  and  said: 

"Jim,  run  down  and  bring  a  pitcher  of  beer."  Then  she 
turned  and  chuckled:  "  Ha!  ha!  ain't  they  green  charity  folks, 
though!  I  wish  all  were  like  them.  Sorry  they  hadn't  a  Bible ! 
Ha!  ha!  I  was  mighty  glad." 

Miff  and  Viola  went  down  the  rickety  stairs  into  the  narrow 
street. 

"  Poor  woman,"  said  Viola;  "she  thinks  we  are  awful  good. 
Didn't  we  deceive  her,  ha,  ha!" 

"  I  feel  cheerful  after  doing  so  much  good.  I  am  glad  that  we 
deceived  her;  she  is  very  kind,  and  how  well  trained  her  chil- 
dren was." 

They  were  again  on  the  street.  They  had  been  generous — a 
generosity  different  from  that  of  the  man  who  paid  two  bits  to 
a  charitable  object  on  the  condition  that  the  names  of  all  those 
who  subscribed  should  be  published  in  the  daily  papers.  He 
was  generous,  but  there  is  a  generosity  born  of  greed — a  charity 
overshadowed  by  a  sin,  a  giving  that  is  petty  larceny. 


THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER.  79 

The  charity  pair  made  a  group.  There  are  many  groups  upon 
the  street.  The  old  man  and  his  aged  bride,  who  for  years  have 
limped  over  our  streets;  the  offal  gatherer,  whose  life  would 
adorn  a  tale;  the  urchin  who  steals  to  eat,  and  the  youth  who 
dresses  to  kill;  the  organ  grinder  and  the  addled-brained  musi- 
cian, who  live  by  sound,  harmoniously,  if  wedded  to  their  fiddle 
instead  of  to  one  of  Eve's  daughters.  The  charity  man — God 
bless  him;  may  the  sun  ever  shine  upon  him;  and  the  charity 
woman,  she  is  many.  In  her  hands  is  a  chisel;  it  has  done  noble 
work  in  our  midst.  Yes,  the  world  is  concentrated  upon  our 
streets;  every  grade  and  condition  can  be  paraphrased  from  life, 
from  the  serf  to  the  man  of  royal  blood.  How  strange  are  the 
groupings  we  see,  yet  do  not  marvel  at,  in  the  kaleidoscope  of 
life. 


'CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  I  saw  a  man  lift  tenderly  the  broken  paw  of  a  dog,  and  blow  upon  it  like 
we  do  upon  the  injured  finger  of  a  child.  A  few  moments  afterwards  I  saw 
the  same  m*m  push  rudely  aside  the  begging  hand  of  a  forsaken,  poverty- 
stricken  woman,  and  I  said  to  myself,  '  The  instincts  of  that  man  are  more 
brutish  than  divine.'  ' 

Mrs.  Benson  was  surprised  when  Bona  appeared  chaperoned 
by  George  Dean.  Bona  was  her  pet;  of  all  the  children  whom 
Mrs.- Benson  had  rescued  from  poverty  and  sin,  Bona  had  grown 
up  as  her  favorite.  No  one  was  higher,  more  kind,  more  beau- 
tiful than  Kenwood's  daughter.  Mrs.  Benson  pointed  with  pride 
to  her,  and  often  said,  "  She  is  worth  a  life's  work." 

"When  envious  minds  and  selfish  natures  said  that  Mrs.  Benson 
was  a  good  woman,  but  taught  erroneous  doctrines,  a  good  old 
church  deacon  said:  "A  woman  who  will  train  up  such  a  child  is 
orthodox  enough  for  me." 

"  This  is  George  Dean,  who  was  with  me  in  the  Orphans' 
Home,"  said  Bona. 

Mrs.  Benson  received  Mr.  Dean  graciously,  and  listened  with 
interest  to  his  long  story  of  life  upon  the  ranch,  but  he  did  not 
tell  how  Bona  had  played  in  love  with  him  at  the  Orphans'  Home, 
and  how  they  still  remembered  the  play;  neither  did  Bona  men- 
tion the  company  that  she  found  him  in.  Bona  often  told  Mrs. 
Benson  of  Miff  and  his  strange  conduct,  and  of  Viola  and  her 
jealous  rage.  When  she  spoke  of  Miff,  her  tone  would  soften, 
and  her  voice,  always  smooth  and  sympathetic,  seemed 
to  be  touched  with  a.  deeper  pathos,  and  her  soul  to  be 
filled  with  an  undelivered  message,  until  Mrs.  Benson  almost 
feared  that  the  petty  thief  and  reckless  vagabond  had  won  her 


THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER.  81 

daughter's  heart.  A  new  danger  appeared,  for  George  Dean 
held  Bona's  hand  and  talked  of  the  past.  Bona  was  happy;  her 
nature  was  fresh,  like  the  budding  flower  on  a  spring  morning. 
She  pitied  George  Dean,  and  he  reciprocated  that  pity.  Such 
pity  is  love.  Two  young  hearts  thus  joined  are  inseparable.  It 
is  one  of  the  attributes  of  human  nature  that  a  tale  of  woe  will 
woo  the  truest  and  fairest  maiden. 

Bona  knew  nothing  of  selfishness.  She  was  trained  to  give. 
Her  life  had  been  devoted  to  good  deeds;  Mrs.  Benson  had  used 
her  to  carry  out  many  of  her  missions  of  charity.  Is  it  any  won- 
der, then,  that  she  first  pitied,  then  loved  George  Dean?  They 
had  no  vulgar  courtship;  to  them  love  came  like  the  fragrance  of 
flowers;  it  was  not  studied,  not  sought,  not  .purchased.  They 
loved,  but  they  knew  il  not;  they  were  happy  together,  and  they 
knew  not  why,  neither  did  they  inquire.  Such  love  is  pure,  holy, 
sacred.  He  who  is  in  love  and  can  tell  the  reason  why  has 
studied  his  bargain. 

Mrs.  Benson  one  day  asked  Bona  whether  she  loved  George 
Dean.  The  question  was  a  surprise;  she  had  not  thought  of 
such  a  thing.  In  a  moment  she  knew  all;  it  was  the  awakening, 
the  sudden  unfolding  of  the  budding  flower.  Her  head  dropped 
slowly  towards  her  breast;  the  tears  glistened  on  her  eyelashes; 
the  color  of  the  rose  overspread  her  cheeks  in  gentle  confusion. 
She  looked  about,  as  if  in  search  for  George;  then,  raising  her 
head,  a  new  light  shone  in  her  eyes,  as  she  said:  "  Is  it  wrong 
that  I  should?" 

Mrs.  Benson  stooped  and  kissed  her,  and  said:  "I  hope  he 
will  make  you  happy,  very  happy," 

"  It  is  so  strange  I  hardly  understand  it  ail." 

"  You  must  both  wait  until  3-011  are  older.  I  will  secure  him 
a  good  position  in  the  city,  and  you  can  see  each  other  as  often 
as  you  like,  and  if  he  proves  himself  honest  and  true,  you  have 
my  consent,  but  he  must  first  be  tried." 


82  THE    STREET    AND    THE   FLOWER. 

"  I  am  sure  he  will."  And  then  she  thought  of  his  temptation 
and  yielding  only  a  few  days  before,  and  fear  came  into  her 
heart;  yet  she  trusted  with  a  woman's  faith,  and  there  is  none 
greater. 

"  It  is  time  to  make  your  visits,"  said  Mrs.  Benson,  and  Bona 
once  more  set  forth  on  her  errand  of  mercy,  like  she  did  nearly 
ten  years  ago,  when  she  first  encountered  Miff  and  Viola  upon  the 
street,  and  was  forced  to  purchase  her  own  flowers. 

George  Dean  was  starting  to  take  his  position  in  one  of  the 
wholesale  establishments  of  the  city.  They  walked  down  town 
together  and  parted  on  the  corner  of  Montgomery  and  Market 
streets. 

Bona,  with  her  basket  on  her  arm,  proceeded  toward  Pacific 
street.  As  she  turned  an  alley  on  Pacific  street,  she  saw  Miff, 
the  charity  man  of  the  day  before,  teasing  a  Chinaman.  Miff 
grabbed  the  Chinaman  by  the  ear,  and  with  the  cruel  propensity 
of  a  low  nature  pulled  it  until  the  Chinaman  drew  one  leg  up 
under  his  blouse  and  danced  upon  the  other. 

•"  Don't  Miff  !  "     And  Bona  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 
He  turned,  and  looked  abashed;   then  said,  as  a  half-apology: 
"  He's  only  a  Chinaman,  anyhow." 
"Yes;  bat  he  feels  pain  as  well  as  you." 
"  I  was  good  yesterday,  Bona,"  said  Miff,  as  if   to  excuse  his 
action  of  to-day. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it;  and  what  did  you  do  that  was  good 
yesterday  ?"  asked  Bona. 

"  Viola  and  I  did  just  as  you  do.  We  were  charity  folks;  that's 
what  we  are  going  to  do  all  the  time." 

"I  am  glad.  I  hope  you  will  be  real  good,  but  you  mustn't 
abuse  the  Chinamen.  It  is  wrong  even  to  despise  them,  much 
worse  to  injure  them  without  excuse.  It  is  wrong  to  hurt  any- 
thing needlessly,  even  a  worm." 


THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER.  83 

"  You  are  good,  Bona;  if  Viola  was  like  you,  I  would  be  good, 
too." 

"  You  ought  to  be  good;  then  Viola  would  likely  be  so,  if  you 
were." 

"  No,  she  wouldn't;   she  wants  to  belike  we  are." 

"Try." 

"  I  can't;  but  oh!  Bona,  if  you  would  love  me!  if  you  would 
live  with  me!  fly  with  me!  I  would  leave  everything.  We  would 
go  away,  and  I  would  be  a  man.  Won't  you,  Bona  ?  I  love  you, 
my  life  is  yours.  I — I'll  kill  myself  if  you  don't — you  must 
come  with  me.  I'll  never  steal,  I'll  never  drink,  I'll  never  do 
nuthin'  bad." 

He  grabbed  her  hands,  and  kneeling  there  in  the  unfrequented 
alley,  he  looked  up  imploringly  into  her  face.  A  few  women 
gazed  upon  the  scene  through  broken  panes  of  glass.  The  China- 
man stopped  and  looked  back,  and  gave  a  satisfied  chuckle,  for 
he  thought  his  tormentor  had  been  conquered  by  a  woman — 
man's  most  dreadful  foe. 

"  I  cannot  leave  you  go;  I  love  you!"  And  his  love  passion 
excited  him  until  the  bloodvessels  marked  blue  streaks  along 
their  tortuous  course,  and  then  the  intensity  of  his  passion  over- 
came him,  and  he  lowered  his  head  and  wept  the  first  tears  that 
were  not  of  pain,  since  he  passed  the  innocence  of  youth,  and  in 
a  subdued  voice,  as  if  in  pain,  he  continued:  "  Ever  since  I  met 
you  on  Montgomery  street  and  stole  your  flowers,  I  have  loved 
you,  and  for  years  I  have  been  tempted  to  be  good  because  you 
were,  and  once  I  didn't  drink  for  two  weeks,  and  almost  went 
crazy;  that's  why  I  got  hurt.  I  have  dreamed  of  you.  I  cannot 
live  without  you." 

"  O  Miff  !  my  Miff  !"  rang  out  upon  the  street,  and  Viola 
rushed  past  them,  her  hair  streaming  behind  her  and  her 
-countenance  wild  with  excitement.  "  I  am  going  to  drown  my- 


84  THE  STKEET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

self,"  she  cried,  and  rushed  down  toward  the  bay.  Miff  left 
Bona,  trembling  with  excitement,  and  started  after  Viola  at  full 
speed.  It  was  only  three  squares  to  the  bay.  The  street  was 
deserted  by  all  except  a  few  drunken  loungers  and  a  lot  of 
women.  Viola  had  listened  to  the  conversation  between  Miff 
and  Bona  until  she  could  no  longer  withhold  her  outraged  feel- 
ings. She  then  determined  to  carry  out  her  threat  to  drown  her- 
self. She  approached  within  sound  of  the  surging  waves.  The 
billows  moaned  a  requiem  to  the  coming  victim.  A  thousand 
voices  cried  out  from  the  sea,  "Come  rest  in  my  bosom."  Behind 
her  the  cruel  world,  with  its  selfishness  and  sin,  its  crime  and 
its  coldness,  hissed  her  on  to  destruction.  Miff  alone  said  "Come 
back,"  bat  she  did  not  heed  his  invitation,  but  welcomed  the 
music  of  the  wild  waves.  She  heard  anew  the  splashing  of  the 
waters  upon  the  wharf,  and  the  seagulls  hovered  around. 

Miff  yelled  again,  "  Viola,  come  back!"  Like  the  flowers  that 
wither  at  contact,  she  went  on,  as  if  to  say,  "  Touch  me  not." 
She  stood  upon  the  wharf  and  looked  upon  the  surging  water. 
A  wave  came  in,  and  as  it  beat  against  the  bank  it  seemed  to  say 
above  the  noise,  "  Coward,"  and  she  heard  the  hideous  laugh  of 
the  sea.  She  turned  and  saw  Miff  drawing  near.  With  a  dis- 
dainful sweep  of  the  hand  and  an  angry  and  forbidding  counten- 
ance, she  waved  him  back.  With  a  despairing  cry,  "  You  called 
me  a  flower,  then  threw  me  into  the  sea,"  she  threw  herself  into 
the  bay,  and  the  waters  covered  her  in  anger  like  the  storm  cloud 
covers  the  dome  of  the  heavens.  Miff  rushed  madly  on,  and, 
without  thought  of  his  own  danger,  plunged  in  after  her.  In  a 
few  minutes  a  crowd  had  gathered  upon  the  bank,  and  saw  Miff 
struggling  in  the  water,  with  Viola  dragging  him  down.  After  a 
desperate  struggle  he  grasped  a  rope  thrown  out  to  him,  and 
Miff  and  Viola  were  pulled  on  the  wharf. 

Viola  was  unconscious,  and  Miff  stood   trembling,  waiting  to 


THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER.  OO 

see  her  open  her  eyes  again.  In  a  short  time  she  regained  con- 
sciousness, and  Miff  knelt  down  by  her  side,  and,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  coarse  crowd,  kissed  his  faded  flower.  It  revived 
Viola  and  she  sprang  to  her  feet.  Pointing  up  the  street,  she 
said:  "  Go;  never  look  at  rne  again;  I  hate  you.  Go  to  Bona; 
she  is  a  lady,  I'm  not.  I'll  never  speak  to  you  again — no,  not 
if  you  are  dying." 

Miff  looked  at  her  for  pity,  but  she  turned  scornfully  away, 
and  started  up  the  street  towards  home,  the  water  dripping  from 
her  garments.  Miff  gazed  with  scorn  upon  the  crowd  of  people, 
and  then  sullenly  walked  off.  He  had  not  gone  far  when  he  met 
Bona  and  Grayson.  When  he  saw  Bona,  his  head  fell,  and  he 
could  not  raise  his  eyes  to  her  face.  "  Miff/'  said  Grayson,  "  I 
want  you  to  come  to  my  room." 

"  Well,"  muttered  Miff. 

Bona  took  Miff's  hand  in  hers  and  looked  at  him,  but  some- 
how it  did  not  seem  to  please  him.  That  Viola  had  forsaken 
him,  had  tried  to  drown  herself,  weighed  heavily  upon  his  mind. 
He  walked  along  in  sullen  silence,  and  was  only  aroused  by  a 
haggard  old  woman,  who  rushed  at  him  and  exclaimed,  "  You 
killed  my  daughter,  did  ye  ?" 

Bona  threw  herself  between  them,  and  Grayson,  taking  the 
wretched  woman  by  \e  arm.  held  her  until  a  policeman  came 
up.  It  was  Mrs.  Proctor. 

Graypon  muttered,  "  How  low!  and  she  was  once  a  beautiful, 
innocent  girl.  She  married  an  intemperate  man,  and,  alas,  she 
has  ruined  herself  forever." 

The  two  reached  Gray  son's  house,  where  Miff  and  Viola  had 
spent  their  first  night  together.  When  they  were  in  the  house, 
Bona  went  over  to  Miff,  and  said,  "  I  have  a  strange  surprise 
for  you.  Do  you  love  me?" 

Miff  hung  his  head. 


86  THE  STEEET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

Bona  repeated  the  question,  and  he  said,  half  in  anger,  "  I 
cannot  forsake  Viola." 

"  Don't  you  love  me  a  little?"  inquired  Bona. 
"  Yes— oh,  I  don't  know;  let  me  go  away — I  hate  everybody." 
"  I  love  yon,  Miff.     Oh,  Miff,  you  are  ray  brother." 
<c  Your  brother — my  sister!     What  do  you  mean?" 
"  Yes,  I  am  your  sister;   that's  why  we  love  each  other." 
"  Oh,  Bona,  my  sister — my  sister.     I  remember  long  ago  that 
I  had  a  sister,  and  you  are  my  sister  ?     I'll  be   good   now,    and 
Viola  won't  be  jealous  any  more." 
"  Won't  you  kiss  me,  brother?" 

Miff  embraced  his  sister,  then  listened  to  Gray  son's  story  of 
their  lives.  It  was  he  who  informed  Bona  of  their  relationship, 
and  as  he  closed  the  recital  of  the  story  Miff  and  Bona  were  too 
happy  to  speak. 

"  Miff,"  he  said,  sternly,  "  you  must  now  reform.  Your  na- 
ture is  not  wholly  bad;  your  love  for  Viola,  and  your  strange  af- 
fection for  Bona,  which  you  did  not  know  was  a  brother's  love 
until  to-day,  have  been  the  redeeming  traits  of  your  character. 
Your  nature  is  bad,  but  it  is  better  than  some.  I  saw  a  man  lift 
tenderly  the  broken  paw  of  a  dog  and  blow  upon  it.  as  we  do 
upon  the  injured  finger  of  a  child.  A  few  moments  afterwards 
I  saw  the  same  man  push  rudely  aside  the  begging  hand  of  a 
forsaken,  poverty-stricken  woman,  and  I  said  to  myself,  '  The  in- 
stincts of  that  man  are  more  brutish  than  divine/  But  your 
training  has  been  worse  than  your  nature.  If  you  want  to  be, 
you  can  be  good,  but  it  will  require  of  you  a  mighty  effort — yea, 
a  greater  power  than  human  will." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

'•  Here  the  story  ends.  Human  misery  continues,  and  from  out  the  depths 
of  humanity  we  hear  the  plaintive  cry,  "  Help!  help!" 

Haggard  and  worn,  Miff  searched  for  Yiola.  Twelve  months 
had  passed  since  he  had  found  a  sister,  and  lost  his  love,  Viola. 

"  I'll  find  her  or  die  !"  was  Miff's  passionate  outburst  in  reply 
to  Bona's  appeal  to  give  up  the  fruitless  search. 

Now  and  then  Miff  would  hear  of  Viola  in  the  saloons. 
Sometimes  she  was  there  only  the  day  before,  but  she  eluded 
his  sight,  or  else  the  men  were  mistaken  as  to  her  identity. 

"Alas,"  said  Bona,  "  I'm  afraid  that  Viola  has  destroyed  her- 
self." 

"  Then  I  will,  too.     I  cannot  live  without  her.  " 

But  Miff  would  not  believe  that  Viola  was-dead.  It  seemed 
impossible  to  him.  He  did  not  know  the  power  of  the  human 
will,  and  the  loss  of  reason  by  conflicting  emotions.  Suicide, 
after  all,  is  a  natural  relief  to  a  frenzied  soul.  To  die  accord- 
ing to  one's  own  choosing  is  sweet  revenge  upon  the  cruel  fates. 

Up  in  Barton  alley,  where  Bona  first  saw  the  light  of  day, 
and  felt  the  frown  of  a  cold  and  heartless  world  upon  her  tender 
soul,  Miff  wandered,  inquiring  among  his  old  haunts  if  Viola 
had  been  seen  anywhere. 

He  paused  before  the  very  house  in  which  he  knew  a  mother's 
love.  The  alley  had  become  deserted  by  all  save  the  lowest  of 
the  low  and  the  vilest  of  the  vile.  The  wharf  rats,  the  garbage 
pickers  and  the  water-front  thieves  had  their  homes  there.  The 
houses  were  dilapidated;  even  Miff,  accustomed  to  dwell  in  the 
slums,  drew  back  at  the  picture  of  complete  misery7  and  desola- 
tion. He  who  had  been  so  low  wondered  how  human  beings 
could  thus  exist. 


OO  THE    STREET   AND    THE    FLOWER. 

There  must  be  a  vast  difference  in  the  very  constitution  of 
man.  It  would,  indeed,  be  a  grand  economical  principle  in 
human  nature  if  when  man  degraded  himself  to  a  certain  line  of 
demarcation,  that  he  would  cease  to  be  a  man,  and  exist  in  form 
and  nature  in  keeping  with  his  brutal  instincts. 

Miff  looked  a  moment  upon  the  place  he  once  called  home. 
The  broken  steps,  the  weather-beaten  boards,  the  rain-washed 
windows,  and  upon  the  dirt  that  had  accumulated  in  every  cor- 
ner. 

"  I'll  go  in,"  he  said  to  himself.  And  he  pushed  open  the 
door,  without  knocking,  and  paused,  for  the  image  of  his 
mother  and  the  dimpled  face  of  his  sister  Bona  came  distinctly 
before  him. 

"  Mother  is  gone  now,  and  Bona  is  mine,  good  angel." 

Thus  it  is  that  every  sorrow  has  its  complement  in  happiness. 

"  Hello!  Wake  up!"  said  Miff,  as  he  shook  a  sleeping  forxm 
lying  upon  a  coverless  bed  in  a  back  room.  Slowly  the  form 
turned,  and  the  eyes  opened. 

"  Well,  if  it  isn't  you!     I  thought  you  were  dead  long  ago." 

It  was  Mrs.  Proctor,  bloated  by  drink  and  degraded  past  all 
human  redemption. 

The  continual  conflict  that  Miff  had  endured  between  his  evil 
tendency  and  the  efforts  of  the  charitable  people  to  reform  him, 
had  not  been  without  its  influence  for  his  good. 

"  How  low!  This  is  the  way  of  all  who  dissipate.  Oh,  if  I 
should  find  Viola  thus!  But  no;  I  will  not  think  of  it.  Mrs. 
Proctor,  wake  up!  Tell  me  of  Yiola!  What  a  miserable  crea- 
ture you  are!  I  often  wondered  what  became  of  the  thousands 
of  bad  women  who  go  to  the  beer  saloons  and  walk  the  streets 
at  night.  I  know  now.  They  end  their  miserable  existence  like 
you.  I  knew  you  when  you  were  once  gay,  and  now  you  are  not 
fit  to  live  among  your  kind,  and  exist  here  alone.  But  where  is 


THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER.  89 

Viola?  "Why  have  I  lived  all  these  years,  and  not  noticed  the 
final  stages  of  our  idle  and  degraded  life  ?  I'll  love  to  my  dying 
day  the  work  of  Bona  and  Grayson.  Old  woman,  wake  up!  Tell 
me  where  Viola  is." 

Mrs.  Proctor  stirred  and  again  opened  her  bloodshot  eyes;  but 
Miff  could  not  rouse  her  from  her  drunken  stupor,  and  left  her. 
He  was  sick  at  heart.  He  returned  to  Mrs.  Benson's  in  despair. 
The  one  object  of  his  life  was  to  find  Viola.  He  could  not  be- 
lieve her  dead.  fc  No.  I'll  find  her  and  be  happier  than  ever  I 
have  been.  My  life  is  hers." 

Bona  mat  him  at  the  door,  radiant  in  her  beauty.  It  was  her 
wedding  eve.  George  Dean  had  redeemed  his  promise  and 
proved  himself  worthy  of  Bona's  trust.  The  orphan  boy  and 
the  daughter  of  Jared  Kenwood  united  their  fortunes,  and  their 
capital  consisted  in  the  hopes  they  had  of  a  long  and  happy  fu- 
ture. Miff  had  laid  aside  his  street  garb,  and  appeared  in  a  fine 
black  suit. 

A  great  change  had  come  over  him  in  the  past  twelve  months, 
since  he  had  learned  that  Bona  was  his  sister.  Men  and  women 
on  Pacific  street  hardly  recognized  the  petty  thief,  the  hoodlum 
•who  stole  to  eat,  in  the  clean,  respectable  laborer,  Mifflin  Ben- 
wood,  as  he  was  called  by  his  employers. 

The  change  was  wrought  by  love— the  love  of  a  sister  and  the 
love  of  those  interested  in  the  cause  of  humanity;  and  the  cause 
comes  from  a  power  mightier  than  human  will. 

After  the  wedding,  Bona  pressed  the  hands  of  her  husband 
and  Miff  in  hers,  and,  kissing  them  both,  said,  "I  have  a  brother, 
a  husband,  and  there  C3m.es  my  mother/'  she  exclaimed,  as  Mrs. 
Benson  appeared,  and  a  smile  of  much  sweetness  rested  upon 
her  lips. 

"Bless  you,  my  children,  and  may  the  generations  to  come 
be  stronger  on  account  of  your  strength  and  weakness.  I  feel 


90  THE  STREET  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

it.  I  know  it,  that  you  will  be  grander  and  nobler  in  years  to 
come  than  if  in  the  past  you  had  not  experienced  the  dark  side 
of  life." 

"Is  Miff  in  the  room?" 

"  Tell  him  to  come  to  my  place  as  soon  as  possible,"  said  a 
messenger  from  Grayson. 

******** 

"  You  told  me  to  come  to  you  if  I  were  ever  in  trouble,  and 
I  have  come. " 

"  Why,  Viola,  is  this  you?"  and  from  the  creature  crouching 
upon  the  steps  came  a  feeble  answer,  "  Yes." 

And  from  the  folds  of  an  old  shawl  appeared  the  smiling  face 
of  an  infant  as  merry  and  as  sweet  as  any  cherub. 

"I  would  never  have  come  back,  but  Bona,  my  child,  his 
child,  must  be  taken  care  of,  and  I  am  dying." 

G-rayson  kindly,  tenderly,  helped  her  into  the  house,  and 
brought  her  some  food. 

"Now  eat,  and  then  tell  me  where  you  have  been." 

The  eyes  of  Viola  stared  wildly,  and  a  hectic  flush  was  upon 
her  face.  Trouble  and  disease,  misery  and  want  had  accom- 
plished their  life-sapping  work. 

"  Tell  me  about  Miff.  Is  he  well?  Has  he  reformed  ?  Does 
he  live  with  Bona?  I  named  his  child  Bona  after  her." 

"  Miff  has  been  hunting  you  everywhere.  He  is  haggard  and 
worn.  I  have  been  afraid  he  would  drown  himself  in  the  bay} 
thinking  that  you  had.  He  has  reformed,  and  Bona  was  mar- 
ried to  George  Dean  last  night." 

"  O  Miff!  Miff!"  exclaimed  Viola,  as  she  saw  him  in  the 
room,  and  she  could  say  no  more. 

Grayson  procured  some  brandy  and  revived  her. 

"  Don't  kiss  me!" — she  waved   him  back — "  Kiss  your  child!'' 

The  child  smiled,  and  the  dimpled  face  was  more  dimpled  as 
she  held  out  her  little  one  first  towards  him. 


THE    STREET    AND    THE    FLOWER.  91 

Miff  looked  at  Grayson,  and  then  the  truth  rushed  upon  him 
and  peace  filled  his  soul. 

"Viola,"  he  cried,  "forgive  me;  Bona  is  my  sister,  the  sister 
whom  I  lost.  I  love  you  more  than  ever  I  loved  her.  Forgive 
me,  for  I  have  suffered  and  have  been  miserable  ever  since." 

"  Bona  your  sister  !   and  you  love  me,  Miff?" 

"  I  always  have,  Viola,  ever  since  we  spent  our  first  night  to- 
gether in  the  cellar  of  this  house." 

"  O  Miff,"  exclaimed  Viola,  as  she  pressed  his  hand,  "I  wish 
I  could  live  now." 

"  You  will,  you  must  live.  I  will  not  let  you  die.  Live,  and 
we  will  be  happy." 

"  I  wish  I  had  come  back  long  ago,  but  I  could  not.  The  la- 
dies of  the  Relief  Society  found  me  crazy  with  grief  upon  the 
streets,  and  took  me  to  their  home  and  waited  upon  me,  oh,  so 
kindly,  until  baby  was  born,  and  then,  after  I  had  grown  strong 
I  left  them  and  tried  to  earn  my  own  living,  but  I  could  not, 
and  sometimes  even  baby  was  hungry,  and  I  was  afraid  to  look 
for  you  for  fear  I  would  be  jealous  again.  *  Then  I  named  the 
baby  Bona,  and  came  here  to  Mr.  Grayson.  I  know  I  am  dying 
and  I  thought  he  would  take  care  of  Bona.  But  it  is  all  changed 
now.  Bona  is  your  sister  and  you  love  me;  I  know  when  I  am 
gone  you  will  be  good  like  Mr.  Grayson,  and  will  raise  little 
Bona  up  to  be  a  nice  lady  like  your  sister." 

They  watched  a  day  and  a  night,  and  as  the  morning  sun 
arose,  warming  the  city  and  casting  a  glow  over  hill  top,  valley 
and  city,  the  spirit  of  the  flower  went  forth.  The  crushed,  the 
bruised,  the  trampled-upon  flower  of  the  street  withered,  and 
the  dew  of  love, which  fell  so  freely  upon  the  broken  spirit, would 
never  make  the  flower  to  bloom  again.  Oh,  precious  violet!  if 
thou  dost  spring  up  in  the  street,  why  does  not  the  Great  Gar- 
dener transplant  you  within  ivy  covered  walls?  Thy  life  was  a 


92  THE    STKEET   ANP    THE    FLOWER. 

continual  mockery  against  thy  Creator,  but  alas,  it  was  a  human 
foot  that  trampled  upon  thee,  and  it  was  the  decree  of  Divinity 
that  even  one  flower,  a  pretty  violet,  should  grow  upon  the  street 
to  be  crushed  by  the  wicked  heel  of  careless  man.  Miff  saw  the 
cold  and  lifeless  form  and  rebelled,  but  as  he  turned  he  beheld 
the  merry  eyes  of  the  laughing  child,  and  the  great  story  of  his 
life  received  his  complement  in  happiness. 

Here  the  story  ends.  Human  misery  continues,  and  from  the 
depths  of  humanity  comes  the  plaintive  cry  of  "  Help!  help!" 

Miff  changed  the  name  of  his  child  to  Viola,  in  honor  of  the 
mother  he  loved.  On  a  quiet  Sunday  afternoon,  Miff,  accom- 
panied by  his  child,  with  Bona  and  her  husband,  visited  the 
graveyard  and  watered  the  violets  growing  on  Viola's  grave.  If 
misfortune  and  poverty  should  come  again  to  Miff,  he  would 
battle  bravely,  for  the  sake  of  the  little  girl  he  calls  c<  her  child." 
Tenderly  and  lovingly  he  speaks  of  the  one  buried  'neath  the 
violets. 


TWIN    LIVES. 


ANTE-SCRIPT. 


The  following  story  is  given  in  almost  the  precise  words  in 
•which  it  was  related  to  us  by  a  literary  genius,  an  adherent  of 
Democritus,  with  unusually  long,  silken  white  hair.  He  was  a 
pleasant,  shabby-genteel  fellow  of  the  old  school.  He  wore  a 
glossy  black  suit,  threadbare  at  the  edges,  and  a  cone-shaped 
hat,  with  the  outer  rim  a  perfect  circle.  His  cadaverous  looks 
spoke  for  alms,  but  the  melodious  tones  of  a  low-pitched  voice 
told  of  wealth.  Perhaps  the  man  belonged  to  a  planet  world, 
and  came  hither  to  umpii'e  the  loves  of  humanity,  the  vices  and 
virtues  of  men. 

On  a  warm  summer  day,  when  the  shadows  in  our  office* 
diminished  with  the  declining  sun,  he  came  in,  as  he  was  wont 
to  do,  silently,  and  then  began  the  recital  of  a  tale  of  marvelous 
friendship,  the  history  of  the  tenderness  of  man's  love  for  man, 
far  surpassing  the  amorous  and  oftentimes  selfish  love  of  man 
for  woman.  We  listened  until  the  close.  The  narrator  arose; 
his  tall,  skeleton-like  form  towered  above  us,  as  he  noiselessly 
opened  the  door  and  went  out.  We  have  not  seen  him  since; 
perhaps  his  monument,  a  plain  and  simple  slab,  is  washed  by 
the  rain  that  falls  upon  Lone  Mountain;  yet  he  lives  to  us 
through  the  strange  and  touching  story  of  the  "  Twin  Lives." 

THE  AUTHORS. 
y  GOLDEN  EKA. 


94  TWIN    LIVES. 

Who  was  Adel  ? 

A  woman  whose  first  memories  were  of  California's  glancing1 
waters,  sloping  hills,  noble  forest  trees,  rich  grass  meadows, 
gabled  houses,  beautiful  rivers  and  woodland  dells.  A  woman 
whose  childhood  went  by  like  a  fairy  tale  told  by  a  soft  voice  on 
a  warm  summer  day. 

Her  lover  said  she  was  the  loveliest  woman  that  ever  bright- 
ened a  home.  She  had  a  face  like  the  Cenci,  a  voice  like  an 
Italian  lark,  a  smile  like  a  child,  a  grace  like  a  flower's,  eyes  that 
spoke  without  knowing  why. 

Such  was  her  lover's  description.  Nobody  wants  the  fact«; 
facts  are  hardly  more  amusing  than  mathematics,  unless  you  can 
whisper  them. 

Adel's  life  was  without  romance,  until  she  had  passed  the  age 
of  youthful  fancies  and  girlhood  dreams,  and^met  Ralph  Ather- 
ton  and  Harold  Eades,  who  stood  before  her  with  one  motive 
in  life,  their  hands  clasped. 

In  nature  there  are  a  million  gorgeous  hues  and  tints;  yet  the 
pictures  that  are  painted  in  sombre  semi-tones,  and  have  no  pos- 
itive color,  are  pronounced  nearer  to  nature.  A  painter  dare 
not  approach  the  real  gold  of  the  sunset  or  the  yellow  of  the 
sunflower.  Adel  has  subdued  tints  in  this  story,  for  no  one 
would  believe  the  life-likeness. 

Ralph  and  Harold  were  like  two  mountain  streams  that  at- 
tained strength  in  the  solitude  of  the  forest,  and,  meeting  on  the 
meadow's  level,  flowed  on  together  towards  the  great  ocean  of 
the  Beyond. 

Ralph  and  Harold  were  friends;  nothing  on  earth  could  sep- 
arate them.  They  shared  and  shared  alike  the  emoluments  of 
success  and  the  bitterness  of  defeat.  There  were  backward  ed- 
dies in  their  stream,  but  the  current  of  their_ulives  flowed  irre- 
sistibly on. 


TWIN    LIVES.  95 

After  they  met  Adel  for  the  first  time,  heard  her  sing  and 
listened  to  the  charm  of  her  voice  when  speaking  or  interpreting 
the  musical  soul  of  some  great  master,  they  went  to  their  quiet 
home  enchanted  with  the  new  personality. 

"  She  is  beautiful,"  said  Ralph. 

"  She  is  very  interesting,"  replied  Harold. 

"  Her  songs  are  not  like  the  songs  of  other  women." 

"  I  hare  listened  to  the  songs  of  love,  but  she  has  no't  loved." 

"  She  is  full  of  idealities." 

"  She  has  strong  passions,  but  they  sleep." 

"  She  has  been  used  to  her  own  way,  and  is  indifferent;  she 
has  treated  some  men  with  friendship,  none  with  tenderness." 

"  She  seems  cold;  her  life  lacks  the  warmth  of  romance.  She 
thinks  affection  ought  to  begin  when  the  passion  of  its  youth  has 
departed." 

"  She  has  more  mind  and  less  frivolity  than  most  of  her  sex." 

"  Yet  withal  she  is  a  coquette." 

"  She  dresses  perfectly." 

"  She  has  eyes  like  the  eyes  o.  the  boyish  portrait  of  Shelley." 

«  Will  you  love  her?"  asked  Ralph.  " 

"  Will  you  love  her?"  asked  Harold. 

"Will  you  or  I?" 

"  Perhaps  both,"  said  Harold. 

"Nothing  shall  come  between  us3  not  even  a  woman.  We 
will  not  think  of  marriage  just  yet.  Wait  until  we  are  forty, 
when  maturity  will  strengthen  our  love,  so  that  it  may  be  di- 
vided. Be  it  as  it  will,  nothing  shall  separate  us." 

And  their  hands  clasped. 

Thus  they  walked  toward  the  moonlit  city.  It  was  an  hour 
when  the  street  was  at  its  fullest  and  prettiest.  The  irregular 
blocks  were  half -lighted,  half-dark;  the  painted  and  gilded  signs 
swung  in  the  shadows;  the  vendors  were  going  home;  half  the 


96  TWIN    LIVES. 

places  were  closed  and  half  were  open;  horses  were  trampling 
upon  the  streets;  cars,  with  dim  red  and  blue  lights,  shone  far 
in  the  distance. 

The  inner  life  of  these  two  young  men  was  nothing  less  than 
a  lofty  soul- communion.  The  one  felt  the  other's  will  before  it 
was  spoken,  and  from  a  distance  came  the  spirit's  call.  The 
love  of  Harold  and  Ralph  had  an  essence  as  tangible  as  the  com- 
munion of  saints  and  as  lofty  as  the  affinity  of  Goethe  and  as 
pure  as  the  holiest  spiritualism.  These  two  lives  were  one, 
wedded  together,  not  in  the  flesh,  but  in  the  spirit — a  bond 
holier  than  matrimony,  for  no  law  can  put  it  asunder.  Twins 
by  the  natural  affinity  of  souls,  the  key  to  each  other's  thoughts 
hung  on  one  common  hook. 

Ralph  was  away  for  a  week.  When  he  returned  a  pained  ex- 
pression was  upon  his  face.  "I  am  losing  you,  Harold;  you 
love  Adel." 

"  No,  no,"  replied  Harold.  "Come  with  me  this  evtning, 
and  see  for  yourself." 

This  time  they  called  on  Adel  for  a  purpose.  In  a  short  time 
she  was  to  leave  the  city,  to  return  to  the  familiar  scenes  and 
faces  of  her  home. 

She  welcomed  Ralph's  return  so  cordially  that  Harold  was 
sure  that  Adel's  manner  to  him  was  not  favoritism,  only  friend- 
ship, half-disguised  by  unstudied  coquetry. 

Adel  quietly  asked  Ralph  many  questions  about  his  trip,  and 
listened  to  his  answers  with  such  graceful  interest  that  he  was 
charmed  with  her  silence,  as  he  had  often  been  delighted  with 
her  conversation. 

Harold  found  others  to  interest  and  amuse  him;  yet,  when- 
ever chance  offered,  he  was  near  Adel,  and  ready  with  a  compli- 
ment. 


TWIN   LIVES.  97 

"  Why  do  you  wear  that  red  rose  ?"  Harold  asked  abruptly. 

"  Vanity!     It  suits  my  complexion,"  Adel  answered. 

"  That  is  an  artistic  idea.  Your  complexion  is  too  beautiful 
to  need  ornament — " 

"  Or  compliment.'* 

"  Truth  is  not  compliment.  I  never  use  the  language  of  com- 
pliment to  you.  You  know  that  very  well.  It  was  our  first 
compact,  that  you  should  believe  whatever  I  say." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  answered;  "  but  it  is  agreeable  for  gen- 
tlemen to  tell  pretty  lies." 

"  Not,  if  they  are  nob  believed;  but  it  is  like  you  to  doubt — it 
is  like  ten  thousand  other  women,  but  I  wanted  you  to  be  differ- 
ent from  other  women,"  he  answered,  half-bitteiiy. 

He  often  thus  tried  to  excite  an  emotion — a  flush  of  anger 
or  of  joy.  He  wanted  to  test  his  power  to  please  or  displease. 
In  anything  save  sentiment  he  succeeded,  but  in  that  she  was 
immovable.  She  talked  of  love  as  though  it  were  an  incident 
of  life. 

"  She  is  cold;  her  heart  is  tender,  but  she  lacks  the  love  pas- 
sion," he  told  Kalph,  when  they  reached  the  room. 

"  How  lovely  she  was  to-night,"  said  Ralph;  "  not  very  beau- 
tiful, perhaps,  except  for  her  eyes,  and  a  mouth  smiling  and 
glad  with  lovely  curves  to  the  lips,  and  hair  dark  as  a  raven's 
wing." 

She  never  looked  so  well  as  when  she  sang;  it  sent  warmth  to 
her  face.  Singing,  she  looked  like  the  ideal  of  Musset's  poetic 
dream — singing  love,  bidding  it  come,  yet  unconscious  of  all. 

"Are  you  convinced  now,"  a*ked  Harold,  "  that  you  are  losing 
me?" 

"It  is  friendship — wonderful  friendship,  dangerous  friend- 
ship. Adel  is  honest,  is  candid,  but  her  ways  inspire  love,  as 
much  so  as  if  she  sought  it." 


98  TWIN    LIVES. 

Happily  for  herself,  she  was  so  constituted  that  she  could  en- 
joy, with  infinite  zest,  prosy  things.  She  took  so  much  trouble, 
she  was  so  charmed  with  commonplaces,  her  smiles  beamed  so 
radiantly,  her  hands  pressed  theirs  so  cordially,  her  manners 
were  so  accentuated  with  the  strongest  welcome  and  eager  en- 
joyment of  their  companionship  that  a  man  felt  flattered  at  his 
own  effect  upon  her,  and  he  would  leave  her  with  a  high  opinion 
of  the  lady  whose  manners  were  so  favorable  to  himself.  Such 
is  society.  The  art  of  pleasing  is  more  based  upon  the  art  of 
seeming  pleased  than  people  think. 

A  day  and  a  month  passed,  and  Harold  left  the  city  to  seek  a 
purer  atmosphere  among  the  clear  lakes  of  the  Sierras.  On  his 
way  he  stopped  at  the  home  of  Adel  Stanton,  and  by  her  side  he 
watched  the  noble,  tawny  sunsets  and  the  sapphire  blue  of  the 
skies,  and  w  is  bathed  by  the  winds  all  fragrant  with  harvest 
blossoms,  and  by  the  sunlight  in  which  the  yellow  tints  of  the 
hills  flashed  like  gold. 

He  talked  to  her  of  other  ones  who  had  found  favor  in  her 
sight.  She  listened  and  asked  questions,  and  it  flattered  him. 
It  was  not  vanity;  a  man  cannot  help  being  pleased  when  one 
woman  shows  herself  interested  in  his  position  with  another;  it 
is  recollection  and  anticipation  combined.  Then  from  the  lakes 
he  wrote  back  to  Ralph  the  recollections  of  his  pleasant  visit. 

MY  DEAR  RALPH:  You  almost  drew  rne  away  from  Adel.  If  either  of  us 
were  to  love  her,  something  fierce  in  our  natures  would  occur.  We  are  vitally 
in  earnest.  Life  is  friendship,  to  us,  and  it  is  wonderful,  passionate, 
pathetic,  shaped  by  the  gods  of  love  and  death.  It  would  be  better  if  we 
could  laugh  like  Rabelais  and  smile  like  Montaigne;  that  is  the  way  to  take 
the  world. 

But  I  promised  to  tell  you  about  Adel.  I  found  her  in  an  almost  ro- 
mantic home,  surrounded  by  charming  conceits,  rich  shadows  and  a 
depth  of  shade,  where  she  is  free  to  think,  to  dream  and  to  study.  An  in- 
dulgent father,  a  kind  mother  and  a  sister  growing  like  unto  herself,  the 
bent  of  whose  mind  is  towar  Is  books.  She  finds  the  treasures  of  scholar- 
ship sweet;  she  seems  led  both  by  nature  and  habit  to  seek  them. 

I  found  Adel  in  the  midst  of   a  group   of   admirers.     It   is   with  supreme 


TWIN    LIVES.  99 

pleasure  that  I  have  discovered  a  fault  in  her;  she  has  a  hasty  temper — not 
the  bitter,  sarcastic  nature  of  a  soured  disposition.  The  dark  cloud  always 
appears  as  a  storm;  the  calm  afterwards,  I  venture,  is  tempered  with  a 
steady  rain — of  tears.  And  ve*,  I  have  found  an  error  also,  like  a  child  or 
the  calloused  man.  Let  us  think  of  her  as  a  child  in  this.  She  cares  not 
•whence  her  life  came  or  whither  it  drifts;  it  is  enough  for  her  that  it  is.  In 
her  own  home  she  is  more  lovely  than  my  poetic  ideal. 

With  a  tribute  to  this  country,  so  that  you  may  feel  as  I  feel,  I  close. 
There  is  a  breadth,  a  graciousness,  a  fresh  and  fragrant  verdure  in  all  this 
country  not  to  be  surpassed  in  charm;  it  is  unworn  and  unspoilt,  and  al- 
though under  its  leafy  woods  the  wheel  of  the  gambler  turns,  and  by  its  lim- 
pid streams  and  'neath  its  genial  sunshine  the  tired  hypochondriac  drinks, 
still  there  is  much  of  it  that  neither  gambler  nor  hypochondriac  ever  sees, 
and  that  is  solitary  as  the  highest  peace  and  radiant  with  a  brightness  all  its 
own.  My  descriptions  are  tedious.  I  miss  you,  Ralph. 

Affectionately,  HAKOLD. 

Ralph  waited  a  few  days,  then  answered: 

MY  DEAR  HAROLD:  I  was  pleased  with  your  description  of  Adel's  home. 
You  are  beginning  to  discern;  you  will  not  be  infatuated.  Our  lives  \\ili  not 
be  separated  yet  by  a  woman's  love.  That  is  right;  woo  the  mountains  and 
nature's  grandest  scenes.  My  nature  can  be  in  close  sympathy  with  you  in 
such  a  natural  love.  Woo  the  monarch  of  the  forest;  it  will  protect  you. 
from  the  storms  of  life — a  woman  can  only  cling  to  you.  Let  the  breeze 
from  the  lake  caress  your  fevered  brow,  and  the  ice-giant  cool  the  approach- 
ing ardor  of  a  passionate  love.  I  am  content  to  dwell  awhile  apart  from 
you.  At  night  my  spirit  meets  your  spirit  half  way  between  the  lakes  and 
the  sea.  Now  I  have  something  of  interest  to  tell  you.  My  spirit  has  gone 
straying  'ueath  the  orange  grove  and  found  another  spirit,  as  calm  and 
sweet  as  the  spirit  of  Adel.  May  it  not  entangle  itself  'twixt  yours  and  mine. 
I  ask  myself  again,  "  When  will  this  love  life  end?"  Your  spirit  answers 
back,  "  Never!"  Come  back,  Harold.  I  place  the  covers  for  you  each  night, 
and  in  the  morning  I  fill  your  plate  with  the  choicest  the  table  affords. 
Come  by  way  of  the  river  valley,  and  we  will  meet  at  Adel's.  Our  friendship 
grows.  We  are  far  removed  from  the  practical  business  world.  Let  us  so 
remain. 

Affectionately, 

KALPH. 

A  week  later  Harold  and  Ralph  were  warmly  greeted  by  Adel. 
Both  were  of  an  ideal  and  poetic  temperament.  They  admired 
the  same  standard  of  beauty,  adhered  to  the  same  principles, 
and  lived  in  this  for  the  higher  life  beyond.  Harold  was  the 
the  more  impulsive,  Ralph  the  more  sincere.  Harold  was  there- 


100  TWIN    LIVES. 

fore  quickly  led  to  the  verge  of  love,  a  fickle  verge,  that  trem- 
bled over  the  abyss,  as  if  to  make  him  afraid. 

Ralph  and  Adel  sought  the  lawn.  Harold  stood  in  the  midst 
of  a  family  group  and  watched  them.  Adel  looked  to  him  like  a 
realized  fancy,  whether  shining  in  velvet  and  cloth  of  gold  in 
a  throne  room  or  straying  in  a  linen  dress  through  starlit  myr- 
tles on  Italian  hills,  or  a  California  ideal,  a  kindred  spirit,  with 
eyes  and  hair  to  match  his  own. 

They  spent  days  with  Adel,  growing  more  intimate  with  each 
red,  red  rose,  each  fair  lily,  with  its  petals  caressed  by  the  sun, 
each  shrub,  each  bush  and  each  tree,  until  Adel  and  her  friends 
became  their  friends.  All  this  time  no  one  could  see  any  favor- 
itism shown. 

The  impulsive  and  sanguine  nature  of  Harold  made  him  con- 
strue her  cordiality  to  more  than  friendship;  perhaps  he  was 
vain.  He  had  no  thought  of  proving  faithless  to  his  love  for 
Ralph;  it  transcended  the  love  of  any  man  for  woman. 

Again  they  returned  to  their  professional  pursuits  in  the  city, 
seeking  fame,  that  which  will  win  the  applause  of  those  to  whom 
they  would  not  care  to  bow.  People  who  live  in  obscurity  think 
that  fame  is  a  paradise.  Those  who  live  on  the  sale  of  their  in- 
tellectual wares  by  popular  caprice  are  seldom  happy. 

The  world  hugs  itself  to  think  it  makes  a  woman  debase  her- 
self to  attain  fame.  It  crushes  and  caresses  between  the  rising 
and  setting  of  the  sun. 

'Tis  right  to  laugh  at  the  cynic  world  when  in  tears  and 
prayers  over  the  sad  poetry  of  Shelley,  for  the  world  dries  its 
tears  and  telegraphs  to  the  planet  realms  the  story  of  his  sin- 
cursed  loves. 

Harold's  love  grew  more  intense  for  Adel,  yet  he  never  con- 
fessed to  himself  or  to  Ralph  the  depth  of  his  emotion.  Then 
came  a  letter  in  answer  to  one  of  his  own;  it  was  brief,  not 


TWIN    LIVES.  101 

a  letter  a  maiden  would  write  to  her  lover,  but  then    flarold 
enjoyed  the  pleasures  of  hope. 

DEAR  FBIEND:  J  thank  you  for  the  flowers.  I  wore  the  red  rose  at  the 
German  last  night.  A  year  has  pissed  since  I  left  school,  and  it  has  been 
the  happiest  year  of  all  my  life — a  year  of  continual  pleasure  and  sunshine. 
You  asked  me  in  jest  if  I  thought  it  possible  for  a  man  to  love  two  persona 
equally  well.  I  answer,  in  the  same  spirit,  Yes,  for  I  love  four. 

He  read  no  farther,  but  fell  into  a  state  of  dreamy  thought. 
The  charm  of  love  was  upon  him.  He  denied  it  again  and  again 
to  Ralph  when  he  was  not  accused.  Yet  he  denied  his  love, 
and  no  one  save  himself  would  have  ever  learned  its  existence, 
had  it  not  baen  for  tha  news  that  unless  he  told  his  love  boldly 
and  irnaiacliately  another  would  woo  and  tvin  her.  The  strug- 
gle became  intense  to  him. 

He  loved  Adel. 

The  flowers  were  in  bloom,  yet  it  was  not  spring.  The  old 
year  was  just  welcoming  the  new  when  Harold,  forgetting  the 
confidence  due  to  Ralph,  was  again  in  the  presence  of  Adel. 

He  waited  for  some  sign;  spoke  words  that  would  reveal  his 
meaning;  watched  with  anxious  eye  the  influence  of  his  pres- 
ence. In  her  actions  he  saw  encouragement;  in  her  words  he 
fathomed  love. 

Perhaps  he  was  vain.  He  thought  not  of  the  future  and 
dreamed  not  of  the  past.  The  immediate  moment  ia  the  heaven 
alike  to  the  lover  and  the  child. 

They  were  alone. 

"I  love  you,  Adel/'  was  all  he  said. 

He  reached  for  her  hand;  it  was  cold.  No  difference  what  the 
answer  might  be,  the  heart  said  "  No/' 

Then  a  great  longing  filled  his  soul  to  go  to  Ralph.  He 
heard  a  whisper  saying,  "  Come  to  me/5 

Harold  waited  for  Adel's  answer.  It  was  frank  and  candid, 
like  her  nature;  yet  it  cut  like  cold  steel. 


102  TWIN   LIVES. 

Harold  went  back  to  the  city,  knowing  that  he  had  not  awak- 
ened the  love  that  was  deep  in  Adel's  nature.  His  pride  was 
not  hurt.  Like  the  transplanted  oak,  he  was  weak  under  the 
blast.  The  bitterest  trial  was  yet  to  come,  for  though  he  firmly 
resolved  never  to  attempt  to  win  her,  yet  he  knew  that  she  un- 
consciously would  always  retain  his  truest  love,  save  the  perfect 
affection  he  held  for  Ralph. 

He  parted  from  her  glad  and  triumphant,  for  his  love  satis- 
fied him.  Its  complement  was  not  missed.  Like  the  romance 
of  the  rose:  There  was  once  a  rose,  even  a  rose,  that  had  but 
one  little,  short  life  of  a  summer  day  to  live  through  and  to 
lose  and  perish,  glad  and  triumphant  in  its  prime,  because  it 
withered  on  the  bosom  of  a  marvelously  beautiful  woman  and  of 
a  woman's  kiss.  You  see,  roses  are  as  weak  as  men. 

Ralph  met  Harold  with  glad  surprise. 

"  I  knew  you  would  come,"  he  said;    "  my  spirit  called  you/' 

"  I  felt  the  call/'  replied  Harold. 

"  I  thought  you  were  in  trouble  aad  doubt,  and  I  went  to  our 
room.  I  took  down  your  picture  and  knelt  before  it,  and  waited 
until  I  felt  my  spirit  had  reached  you." 

"  Would  that  such  friendship  could  exist  between  man  and 
woman  as  there  exists  between  man  and  man!"  exclaimed  Har- 
old. 

"  What  has  happened?"  asked  Ralph. 

'•  I  love  Adel,"  was  the  response. 

"  Then  indeed  you  should  be  happy." 

"  But  my  love  is  dead  already  forever  and  aye,  and  is  buried 
in  the  deepest  recesses  of  my  heart.  My  romance  has  been  the 
romance  of  the  rose." 

"  My  friendship  is  sufficient  for  you,  as  yours  is  for  me,"  ex- 
claimed Ralph. 

"  May  it  prove  to  be  so  forever,"  replied  Harold. 


TWIN    LIVES.  103 

Their  hands  clasped. 

Harold  endured  one  life  and  dreamed  another.  He  did  not 
heed  the  disappointment,  for  it  had  no  sharper  sting  than  the 
pangs  of  a  song  bird  dying  in  the  summer's  sere  and  yellow  leaf. 
A  fierce  wrangle,  that  was  all.  Passion  had  made  dupes  of  oth- 
ers— millions.  Was  he  of  shrewder  stuff,  to  escape  its  meshes  ? 

A.  man  is  not  a  man,  if  meditation,  enriching  the  well-spring 
of  the  mind,  does  not,  by  a  leaf  in  the  future,  reveal  "  the 
plighted  hands  softly  locked  in  sweet,  unsevered  sleep." 

Meanwhile  the  lives  of  Ralph  and  Harold  grew  more  and  more 
inseparable.  The  grand  historic  characters  of  David  and  Jona- 
than lived  again,  only  Ralph  and  Harold  had  a  spice  of  divine 
wickedness  in  their  lives,  which  made  them  mere  mortals. 

The  sun  was  low  on  a  thousand  hills,  and  Lone  Mountain  was 
wrapt  in  a  shadowy  shroud,  and  darkness  silently  crept  from 
shaded  hollows  to  the  moonlit  peaks.  The  low  land  of  the  Mis- 
sion looked  dusky  and  bronze-hued  from  the  lurid  glare  in  the 
sky.  A  purple  cloud  hung  midway  between  earth  and  heaven, 
as  if  to  keep  away  a  little  longer  the  rays  of  the  moon  from  some 
sin-cursed  spot  in  the  city;  far,  far  away  was  a  glancing  line  that 
showed  where  the  sun  was  sinking  to  the  western  sea  to  float  its 
rays  quickly  to  the  red  sands  of  Atlantic's  eastern  shore,  ere  the 
morning  star  tired  of  its  day-break  watch.  And  in  the  center  of 
all  was  San  Francisco,  with  the  highest  hill  adorned  with  mag- 
nificent palaces,  shadowed  against  the  sea-touched  sky,  and  all 
the  vast  cloud-world  calm  and  serene,  never  angered  to  thunder, 
around  it. 

There  is  no  view  on  earth  like  an  after-sunset  view  from  one  of 
San  Francisco's  hills.  Ralph  and  Harold  admired  it. 

They  entered  a  house  where  welcome  awaited  them,  as  friendly 
as  the  southern  clime  to  the  northern  red-breast.  Here  their 


104  TWIN   LIVES. 

dual  lives  had  the  full  luxury  of  expansion.  An  Italian  song" 
echoed  through  the  house,  as  dulcet  and  charming  as  though  it 
was  Italy's  own  breath  among  the  hills  and  along  the  shaded 
Tiber.  Then  came  the  plaintive  notes  of  "  Fond  Dove,"  and 
Harold  knew  it  was  Adel  before  Ralph,  with  haste,  had  greeted 
the  invisible  singer. 

Adel  had  surprised  her  friends  with  a  glad  surprise,  for  she 
had  arrived  in  the  city  to  make  her  permanent  home  in  their 
midst.  Kalph  and  Harold  delighted  to  renew  their  attentions 
to  her.  The  outside  world  said  they  were  rivals.  The  world 
often  hugs  delusions,  and  individuals  break  forth  in  mocking 
laughter. 

Yet  it  was  not  well  with  Ralph  and  Harold.  That  which  be- 
fore had  been  gay  and  joyous  now  became  serious.  The  passion 
flower  which  Harold  had  ceased  to  moisten  began  to  grow  again, 
and  Ralph  became  more  and  more  attentive  to  Adel. 

Harold  at  length  was  forced  to  ask,  "Ralph,  do  you  love  her?'* 

The  answer  was,  "  Have  you  ceased  to  love  her  ?" 

Then  they  remembered  their  first  conversation,  which  ended, 
"  Perhaps  both." 

Harold  continued:  "  It  will  not  do,  Ralph;  if  you  love  her, 
I  will  go  away — I  cannot  remain.  We  must  part." 

"If  you  were  iri  my  place,  and  loved  her,  what  would  you 
do?"  asked  Ralph. 

"  I  would  find  out  if  she  loved  me,  by  asking  her,"  answered 
Harold. 

"But  why  do  you  not  woo  her  ?  Why  have  you  given  up  all 
hope?" 

"  Because  I  loved  and  she  remained  cold,  cold  as  untouched 
marble  in  a  quarry,  and  she  is  now  pitiless,  almost  unkind. 
No,  Ralph,  the  power  to  charm,  to  win  love,  is  a  magician's 
gift,  a  wand  that  wakes  the  sleeping  senses,  until  a  rose,  touching 


TWIN    LIVES.  105 

the  white  neck,  banishes  peace  from  the  bosom.  The  power  to  love 
is  incarnate,  and  though  the  lover  be  faithless  as  the  wind  and 
rootless  as  the  wind  tossed  flower,  yet  in  him  alone  will  she 
have  faith.  I  want  a  love  that  loves  me;  if  I  must  woo  it, 
then  I  must  keep  up  the  mockery  of  courtship  all  my  life.  Love 
must  be  unsought  by  me,  or  else  no  life  is  worth  living  except 
my  present  one." 

Hirold  stopped,  agitated  by  his  speech.  Yet  that  same  night 
he  cast  off  a  burden  of  dread,  and,  half-kneeling  before  Adel, 
exclaimed: 

"  I  told  you  nearly  a  year  ago  that  Ralph  loved  you.  I  tell 
you  so  again.  We  are  rivals.  My  love  is  firmer,  fonder  than 
that  of  any  one  else.  I  tell  you  again,  so  that  I  may  go  away  con- 
tent. You  have  never  loved.  There  is  a  sea  of  flame  between 
us.  When  you  have  crossed  the  gulf,  you  will  not  look  at  me 
with  the  clear,  candid,  wondering  eyes  of  yours.  No;  then  you 
will  only  look  back  and  wonder,  after  all,  if  my  love  at  its  depths 
was  not  too  deep  to  be  stirred  by  a  pearl  dropped  on  the  surface. 
You  will  love  some  day  like  this,  and  my  revenge  wiJl  be,  let 
the  ghost  of  my  love  forever  haunt  you." 

He  stood  by  her,  waited  not  for  a  reply,  but  touched  her  hand 
softly  with  his  lips,  as  a  bird's  wing  might  brush  an  orange  blos- 
som in  passing. 

Harold  returned  to  Ralph  after  the  interview  with  Adel,  full 
of  vague  feelings  of  unrest.  Then  for  weeks  Ralph  and  Adel 
were  much  in  each  other's  society. 

But  Ralph  was  like  a  hunter  out  in  the  mountains.  He  is 
attracted  by  the  plumage  of  the  untamed  birds,  sailing  away  in 
the  clarified  air  above  the  clouds,  and  4ifts  his  rifle  and  sends 
death  through  the  serene  blue  of  the  scarred  heavens.  The  bird 
drops  in  the  deep  abyss,  where  no  one  seas  it  die.  It  is  of  no 
use  to  the  hunter,  yet  he  shoots  the  bird.  And  the  bird  dies. 


106  TWIN    LIVES. 

Something  of  the  hunter's  feeling  woke  in  Ralph.  Perhaps  he 
was  false.  Men  who  associate  with  ladies  imitate  their  vices. 

Now  and  then  a  thrill  of  savage  jealousy  filled  the  heart  of 
Harold.  Love  has  given  to  the  Eastern  and  Western  of  the 
sons  and  daughters  of  men  a  mystical,  silent  sympathy  that 
draws  men  and  women  together,  as  the  sun  draws  the  morn- 
ing dew. 

Adel  seemed  half-unconscious  that  a  heart- problem  was  be- 
ing solved,  and  that  she  was  the  result  to  be  obtained.  She 
had  that  kind  of  a  nature  which  seems  to  unconsciously  seek 
admiration;  it  came  to  her  like  the  player's  touch  on  a  golden 
harp.  She  sought  unwittingly  only  that  which  suited  her  own 
temperament;  she  gave  the  most  careless  disdain  to  the  antipa- 
thetic. She  was  quick  to  anger;  unbidden  tears  often  flowed. 
She  moved  in  a  circle  of  her  own;  her  world  and  her  sympa- 
thies were  belted  by  the  sphere  in  which  she  moved.  She  was 
artless,  innocent  and  inconsistent.  She  had  the  grace  and  man- 
ners of  a  fashionable  woman,  but  not  the  frivolity.  She  went 
through  life  like  the  heroine  of  a  southern  novel  moves  through 
a  story.  She  was  as  original  as  George  Eliot's  Dorothea,  and 
twice  as  natural. 

Ralph  could  always  cast  sweet  trouble  into  a  woman's  soul;  un- 
consciously he  could  arouse  a  nameless  emotion.  It  seemed 
only  natural  that  a  girl  should  flush  like  a  sun-kissed  rose  in 
his  presence. 

One  summer  evening  Ralph  and  Adel  were  alone  in  a  silent 
room,  where  they  heard  the  beating  of  each  other's  heart.  He 
came  away  happy,  and,  meeting  Harold,  asked  him: 

"Do  you  still  love  Adel?" 

''Yes:   and  I  will  win  her  yet,"  Harold  answered. 

"  Why — why,  I  thought — "  and  Ralph  could  say  no  more. 

Harold  knew  the  secret  of   his  breast.     Ralph  had  aimed  at  a 


TWIN    LIVES.  107 

bird  with  beautiful  plumage.  He  had  crippled  its  wings,  and 
wanted  possession.  He  put  his  arm  through  Ralph's,  and  led 
him  into  the  silent  room. 

"No,  Ealph,  I  can  never  win  Adel;  but  the  time  has  come 
for  you  and  me  to  separate  a  little  while,  and  I  will  go  away. 
By  and  by  I  will  return,  and  then  we  will  be  happier  than  we 
ever  were  before.  I  will  find  some  one  who  will  respond  to  the 
magician's  wand.  God  did  not  make  this  world  so  incomplete 
that  I  cannot  find  a  flower  that  I  can  pluck  without  feeling  the 
bitterness  of  the  hidden  thorn. " 

"  I  will  go  away,  Harold;  you  must  stay.  I  can  go  away 
without  pain.  You  will  win  Adel.  I  will  tell  her  of  your  won- 
derful love,  and  forget  my  own." 

"  But  she  loves  you,  Ralph,  not  me." 

"  I  want  you  to  win  her,"  was  Ralph's  reply. 

That  was  man's  love  for  man.  Harold  went  away.  He  saw 
Adel  standing  by  the  gate,  dressed  in  a  flowing  robe  of  delicate 
pink,  with  a  fascinator  around  her  head  that  made  her  raven 
hair,  dark  hazel  eyes  and  rich  complexion  seem  more  beautiful 
than  art  adorned  nature.  He  ever  afterwards  remembered  her 
as  she  appeared  that  morning,  for,  though  often  in  her  presence, 
he  never  saw  her  again. 

As  he  went  away,  she  said:  "I  hope  you  will  meet  your 
lovely  fate." 

"  I  hope/'  he  replied,  "  that  you  will  marry  the  man  I  want 
you  to." 

'•'Who?"  she  asked. 

He  thought  of  Ralph,  but  his  love  and  selfishness  made  him 
answer,  "  Myself." 

She  turned  away  disappointed,  and  Harold  remembered  the 
look  as  the  plaintive  song  of  a  bird  that  was  dead.  A  few  hours 
afterwards  Ralph  and  Harold  grasped  hands,  touched  lips  and 
parted. 


108  TWIN   LIVES. 

A  year  and  a  summer  day  passed.  Harold  found  enjoyment 
in  the  endless  amusement  of  the  world.  Ralph's  love  remained 
hidden  from  Adel,  like  a  culled  flower  between  the  pages  of  a 
poem.  His  love  had  a  mystic  charm;  it  was  untold.  Often  he 
stole  from  the  covetous  night  an  hour  to  spend  in  her  presence, 
and  she  did  not  rebuke  the  gentle  theft.  Those  hours  were 
sometimes  perilously  sweet. 

One  evening  they  were  alone.  She  pinned  a  rose  upon  his 
coat,  and  he  looked  down  into  her  luminous  hazel  eyes,  and 
asked,  in  his  own  proud,  careless  way: 

"  Will  you  love  me,  Adel  ?" 

t:  If  you  wish  it,"  she  whispered,  with  a  whisper  as  low  as  the 
first  breath  of  a  distant  sea. 

Their  lips  touched.  And  he  kissed  her  again.  He  was  a 
noble,  true-hearted  lover,  and  rose  above  moonlight  walks  and 
nervous  glances. 

With  glad  expectancy,  Harold  was  bidden  to  the  wedding. 
He  wrote  from  the  mines  of  Chihuahua  that  he  would  come. 
The  day  approached.  Ralph  became  uneasy.  Harold  did  not 
come.  Then  came  a  longing  to  go  to  Harold.  Twelve  hours 
before  the  wedding,  he  became  almost  wild.  He  suffered  in- 
tense pain;  his  eyes,  arms  and  legs  he  declared  were  injured. 

"  Harold  calls  me,"  he  said.  "  Something  terrible  has  hap- 
pened." 

Every  one  tried  to  quiet  and  soothe  him,  but  no  avail.  He 
declared:  "  I  am  going  to  Harold;  the  wedding  must  be  post- 
poned." 

Adel  readily  consented  that  he  should  seek  Harold,  and  with 
an  affectionate  farewell  they  parted. 

Ralph  was  irresistibly  convinced  that  some  terrible  calamity 
had  befallen  Harold.  He  took  the  first  train  for  Chihuahua,  in 
southern  Arizona,  and,  thinking  only  of  Harold,  he  sped  on- 


TWIN   LIVES.  109 

ward  towards  his  destination.     He   arrived  in  the  mining  camp, 
at  midnight,  and  immediately  made  inquiries  for  Harold  Eades. 

"  Poor  fellow/5  said  one  of  the  Mexicans,  "  he  lies  in  yonder 
adobe,  dead." 

The  place  was  pointed  out  to  Kalph,  and,  with  the  emotion 
of  one  standing  over  an  open  grave  of  a  loved  one,  he  ap- 
proached the  building.  With  staggering  step  he  entered  and 
knelt  by  the  side  of  him  and  caressed  his  hair. 

Then  a  feeble  hand  was  raised  to  his  face. 

"  It  is  you,  Ralph.     I  called  you;   I  knew  you  would  come." 

"  Thank  God,  Harold,  you  yet  live,"  exclaimed  Ralph.  "  Yes, 
blind  and  crippled,"  he  said,  half-bitterly. 

"  If  you  had  not  come,  I  would  have  died." 

"  I  am  here,  and  will  always  care  for  you." 

"  How  did  you  know  I  was  hurt?  I  told  them  not  to  tele- 
graph you  until  I  was  dead." 

"  I  felt  pain  iu  my  eyes  and  legs,  just  where  you  are.  hurt. 
Then,  on  last  Tuesday  at  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  I 
had  a  terrible  shock,*  a  most  peculiar  sensation;  it  seemed  as 
though  an  explosion  had  taken  place  under  my  feet." 

"Was  it  not  inconvenient  for  you  to  come  so  suddenly?" 
asked  Harold. 

"  Yes,  it  was  my  wedding  day.  Adel  and  I  were  to  be  mar- 
ried just  one  hour  after  the  departure  of  the  train,"  replied 
Ralph. 

"You  did  this  for  me — you  left  Adel  on  your  wedding  day 
for  me !  I  will  never  be  able  to  pay  you  for  such  boundless 
love.  My  eyes,  oh,  my  eyes  are  gone.  I  am  blind." 

Ralph  touched  the  bandaged  eyes  with  his  lips. 

*  This  occurrence  actually  took  place,  and  the  eminent  surgeon,  Dr.  L.  C» 
Lane,  was  consulted  and  will  vouch  for  its  truth. 


110  TWIN    LIVES. 

Such  is  man's  love  for  man.  Such  is  love  without  physical 
attraction;  such  is  the  love  of  the  soul  and  the  intellect. 

For  twelve  long  weeks  Ralph  staid  in  the  adobe  dwelling, 
caring  for  Harold  like  a  mother  cares  for  a  child.  Harold  at 
length  regained  his  strength,  but  at  a  fearful  cost.  He  was 
blind,  and  had  lost  fehe  use  of  one  leg  and  his  left  arm.  Of  the 
after  years  he  thought  nothing.  He  only  was  happy — with  his 
hand  in  Ralph's.  Then,  as  Ralph  led  him  away,  he  said: 

"  Our  bond  is  not  the  bond  of  man  and  wife. 
This  good  is  in  it,  whatsoe'er  of  ill, 
It  cannot  be  so  easy  broken." 

"Your  home  shall  always  be  with  me,"   said  Ralph. 

"No/'  replied  Harold;  "Adel  would  not  like  to  be  troubled 
by  my  presence.  I  will  go  away  to  some  private  institution  and 
live  out  my  allotted  time.  All  these  things  were  planned  before 
we  were  born." 

"  You  misjudge  Adel;  she  has  a  rare  and  noble  nature,  and 
will  be  glad  to  have  you  in  our  home/' 

There  is  something  of  divinity  in  human  nature,  after  all. 


Five  years  afterward,  Ralph  is  sitting  by  Harold's  great  arm 
chair,  reading  aloud  the  "  Song  of  the  Sea."  From  another 
room  came  a  voice  singing  "  Mary,  call  the  cattle  home."  Adel 
followed  the  voice  and  stood  on  the  other  side  of  Harold.  Ralph 
arose,  extended  his  hand  to  his  wife,  Adel,  over  the  head  of 
Harold,  and,  drawing  closer  to  each  other,  their  lips  touched. 
Harold  smiled  and  asked : 

"  Five  years,  and  not  through  courting  yet?" 

Bending  down  with  exquisite  grace,  they  each  kissed  a  rose, 
and  touched  with  it  his  sightless  eyes.  Then  Ralph  reached 


TWIN    LIVES.  Ill 

over  that  their  lips  might  meet  again,  after  his  eyes  had  roved 
over  her  face  in  admiration.  But  Adel  drew  back  with  a  laugh 
as  sweet  as  that  of  the  morning  thrush. 

The  evening  shadows  creep  over  them  and  veil  them  from  a 
too  curious  world.  Above  all  there  appears  a  pure,  clear  and 
joyful  friendship — a  friendship  that  never  dies. 

THE    END. 


